


when the world is running down, you make the best of what's still around

by overcomewithlongingfora_girl



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Asexual Character, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Drowning, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, It's necessary for the story i promise, Lots of OCs - Freeform, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Or at least bi, Parent/Child Incest, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Starvation, Very Very Very Bad Nightmares, Whump, also fucked with uma's a bunch but uma's a super minor character here, i changed chad's entire backstory because it was necessary for the story, i gave evie a twin because i felt like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 87,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overcomewithlongingfora_girl/pseuds/overcomewithlongingfora_girl
Summary: The Island kids get sent back to the Isle. A bunch of Auradon kids are sent with them. The kids need to survive; the adults back in Auradon need to figure out who the stranger is that has imprisoned them and their children, and why she's sent their kids to the Isle. All is not as it seems.
Relationships: Evie/Jay/Mal/Carlos de Vil, Evie/Mal (Disney), Jay/Carlos de Vil
Comments: 198
Kudos: 297





	1. the hero's shoulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Friday!

There was a certain, twisted poetry to the way things were panning out. Mal couldn’t help appreciating it just a little, in the back of her mind.

The part of her that appreciates it grows smaller by the day, as she watches her friends crumble around her.

In the face of this news, the friends she’s made in Auradon don’t matter. The only people that matter are the ones ranged around her, in the tiny room where they’ve been locked and left by Vlasta’s men.

Carlos has retreated entirely, is staring blankly at the wall as if there’s no brain behind his eyes, and Jay is beside himself trying to bring the younger boy back. Lydia and Evie are buzzing around the room as if they’re on drugs, trying to be cheerful, trying to be upbeat, trying to look on the bright side. Mal just sits in the corner and broods. This is bad. This is very, very bad.

They’re going back to their parents, which is shit enough. Their parents are at best deadbeats, at worse, downright dangerous. On top of that are the fucking Auradon kids. The stupid fucking Auradon kids. They’re supposed to be living with the Island kids, and with their parents, and they won’t stand a goddamn chance on the Island. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

Mal wants badly to forget the friends she’s made here, and the morals. She wants to leave the Auradon kids to sink or swim, and focus on looking out for her pack, the way she always has. It’ll be a chore enough, without worrying about a bunch of sissy hero kids finding food and staying out of trouble on an Island that was nothing _but_ trouble.

But that’s not an option anymore. After sixteen good years hardening herself to unfairness in life, Mal has been utterly undone by the pure good intentions of the people of Auradon. The possibility of being something different, something better than her mother and the people on the island, it had thoroughly intoxicated her. The way they’d lived – mean, hard, and without regard for anyone but themselves – it was the easiest thing about the Isle to let go of.

And now they were headed back. And they couldn’t use any of their old coping mechanisms anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Mal flexed her fingers and spoke for the first time in more than a day. At the sound of her voice, all four faces turned. Even Carlos came back to life. It was a trained response. When Mal spoke, they all listened.

“I know this sucks. I know you guys are scared.” Jay ducks his head at that. With anyone else, he’d argue, but Mal knows him too well to buy into his bluffing. That concession is enough for her, they need to start talking about what actually matters. “We need to think of the Auradonians. They won’t last in there without help.”

“They’ll last,” Carlos argues mulishly. “The magic in the barrier will keep them alive.”

An icy stare from Mal quiets him in a heartbeat. “Are you suggesting we look out for ourselves and let them get hurt?”

The question makes Carlos wince, but ever practical, he sticks to his point. “Being good felt nice, yeah. But we could be good in Auradon. We had the option. We didn’t, on the Island, and we weren’t, and that’s how we survived. We have no reason to think that we can go back to the Island and act good and, and survive.”

Mal takes the point and thinks about it for awhile. Carlos appreciates that about her. She may be the unquestioned leader, but she listens when he talks, when any of them talk. Though he brought up the point himself, and he knows it’s sound, Carlos finds himself hoping that Mal can poke holes in it or come up with a better strategy. Life had been a lot easier when he had more than four people in the world he could count on, when he hadn’t been looking constantly over his shoulder for enemies. He doesn’t especially want to go back to a life where the only certainty was pain and hunger and upheaval. He doesn’t want to subject his Auradon friends to it, either. But the friends in the room with him, the only family he’s ever had…they, and himself, will remain his top priority no matter what. At the cost of whatever bit of his soul he might’ve started to recover in Auradon. No amount of goodness was worth any of their skin.

“We’re going to be good,” Mal informs them, startling Carlos out of his thoughts. “Or at least, we’ll try. But that doesn’t mean we’ll be nice.”

A smile is forming on Jay’s face. “Say more about that.”

Mal shrugs. “We have to steal or we won’t eat. So we’ll keep stealing. We’ll just also make sure the Auradon kids eat, even if they are dead weight.”

Jay nods enthusiastically. Having any kind of a plan makes him feel a little more solid on his feet. “So what rules are we working with here?”

“We don’t hurt people,” Mal starts, checking their reactions. Carlos looks skeptical, so she amends. “As much as possible, we don’t hurt people, and if we have to fight someone, we hurt them as little as possible.”

Unable to resist, Carlos pipes up. “That’s not how you win a fight,” he argues. “You hit first, and you hit hard. Everyone knows that.”

Scowling, Mal tosses her hair. The criticism is frustrating, but only because it’s a good point and she doesn’t know how to counter it. “We do our best,” she finally settles on. “And we make judgment calls about how hard to hit.”

Carlos looks unconvinced. “Won’t that just make fights last longer? And more people will challenge us. They’ll think they can get away with things.”

“Mal still has her green eyes trick,” points out Jay. “And people will try us, sure, but c’mon, we never had a problem before.”

Carlos looks unconvinced. Mal forges ahead anyway. “So we try to avoid hurting people. We steal only from people that can handle it – no taking from younger or weaker kids.”

“Engaging with people who have enough food is also going to generate more fights,” Carlos points out.

“Worth it,” Mal informs him, and though he looks like he wants to argue, Carlos nods. “Okay. Last thing. We look out for each other-”

“Obviously,” Jay snorts, and Mal rolls her eyes at him.

“We look out for each other, and we do our best to look out for everyone else too.”

There’s a silence.

“Everyone?” Jay repeats uneasily. “Like, all the Auradon kids?”

Mal tips her chin up, fights off the uncertainty she feels boiling in her stomach. “Everyone. That means everyone. Island kids, Auradon kids.”

“Everyone.” Jay’s incredulous now. “All the time?”

“Okay,” Mal takes a breath. “People that need help. If someone can look after themselves, we leave them alone. If they’re in a fight that they started, and they’re pretty much getting what they asked for, we leave it alone. But if people need help…”

“So we’re a police force now? For the whole Island?” Carlos’s voice is strained. The question is snarky but Mal can tell that he’s scared.

For a moment, Mal lets herself feel overwhelmed. She knows these are things that they have to do, but actually doing them sounds all but impossible.

Then Evie speaks up for the first time. Ever since Mal cleared her throat to speak, she and Lydia have been perfectly quiet, just listening. Now, Evie clears her throat, and Mal looks to her a little desperately, hoping for a lifeline.

“What did you like about Auradon?”

No one answers for a moment. She levels her gaze at Carlos. “Carlos. What did you like about Auradon?”

“Uh, real food? Things were clean. A nice place to live.”

“C’mon Carlos.”

“Okay, I mean, I liked the people. I liked not being afraid all the time, and pretty much being able to trust people.”

“Exactly.”

“But the Island isn’t like that! How are five kids supposed to make the Island like that?”

Evie sighs. “It has to start somewhere. The world doesn’t just become a good place. It’s work, and it’s hard work, and if we don’t do it, we have no way of knowing that someone will.” Finally, Carlos nods.

“We’ll have the help of the Auradon kids,” adds Lydia, and Evie shoots her a quick smile, grateful for the support. Mal is grateful to both of them – she’d been certain she was going to cave in the face of Carlos’s logic.

Heaving a sigh, Carlos rubs a hand across his forehead. “Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this, then.” He still looks doubtful, and stressed, and more than a little nervous.

“C’mon, dude, there are some soft people, even on the Island,” Jay says gently. “Maybe we’ll even get some help from Island kids.”

“Oh, yeah, like we can count on Cressida, or the Hannigan girls, or fucking…Blaze,” moans Carlos. “They’re the ones we’ll be protecting.”

“Yeah, probably,” admits Lydia with a sigh. “But look, Carlos, c’mon. We’re…we’re better than just sitting by and letting people get hurt when we could stop it. We’re better than that, and we have to act like it.”

“We weren’t better than that before.”

“And then we went to Auradon, and people taught us that things could be different. And if we go back to the way things were before, we’re just taking the easy way out, and, and…” Lydia blows out a long, harsh breath. “And that says something about us, that I don’t want to be true.”

For the first time, Carlos doesn’t have an argument ready. He lifts his shoulders and lets them fall. “No one looked out for us,” he finally said softly.

“What do you mean?” asks Jay roughly. “We look out for each other.”

“Yeah, but…in Auradon, they have power and all, and they could’ve been, y’know, the Island police force. They could’ve looked out for us and made sure we didn’t get hurt, and they didn’t. They yanked us out when we were teenagers and pretty able to look after ourselves, and judged us for having shitty habits we learned on an island solely populated by known criminals. Why do we have to put ourselves in danger because they screwed up? Why do _we_ have to clean up their shitty fucking mess so their spoiled kids don’t get hurt?”

By the time he’s done talking, Carlos’s chest is heaving. He no longer sounds reasoned, or even anxious. His eyes are wide and as Mal watches, dismayed, his lip starts trembling, just a little. Without a word, Jay reaches out and hauls him in, close, tucking the smaller teen under his arm. Standing against Jay, Carlos turns his face against the taller boy’s side and tries to breathe.

After a moment, Evie speaks up. “You’re right, Carlos,” she says softly. “It’s not fair, and it’s not right. But we’re…we’ve got to be better than that. These kids don’t deserve to be hurt because their parents fucked up. They’re…most of them are good people. They don’t deserve this. Anymore than we deserve to be hurt because our parents fucked up.”

Sullenly, Carlos nods into Jay’s side. Mal looks around the room, and they’re all nodding. There’s a tug, almost painful, at her heart. Her people are stepping up, the way they always do, the way she knew they would. Jay’s chin is lifting, Lydia and Evie are exchanging cool, certain glances, and Carlos’s shoulders are rising as he draws breath all the way into his lungs. They’re all gearing up, and there’s that fierce love and deep pride, rising up in Mal.

“So, will you guys have kids staying with you? I’ve got Ben and Cassia.”

“They’ll be pretty easy,” Jay says cautiously. “They’re smart. Conscientious. Will, ah, how do you think Maleficent will be with them?”

Mal tips her head. “Hard to say. We’ll be scouting our own food and water, of course, but I don’t think she’ll care that they’re in the castle. If she can use them as bargaining chips, she will, but she doesn’t need to hurt them for that, and she’s too…” Mal searches for the right word. “Tactical, to do anything to them if there’s nothing in it for her.”

“That’s good,” Evie says, eager to seize on good news.

Shooting her a smile, Mal nods. “Yeah, it is. I’m still not going to put anything past her, but I’m…hopeful?” She snorts. “Hopeful is _so_ the wrong word to be using about Maleficent.” They all chuckle. It’s not much of a joke, but they need the release of tension.

“Yeah, I’m not getting anyone,” Jay volunteers. He still has an arm tight around Carlos’s shoulders, keeping him close. “Probably for the best. You know Jafar. He’d try to make ‘em into thieves, and if they didn’t take to it, which no Auradon kid would, he’d…” Rolling his eyes, Jay huffs, shakes his head. “Well. You guys know.”

“Hey.” Initially, Carlos’s voice is muffled, because he’s speaking directly into Jay’s side. He twists his head just a little, so they can hear him. “Hey, Jay can still steal for Jafar, right? The whole goodness thing doesn’t apply to Jafar’s stupid little trinkets, does it?” The teenagers looked around at each other uneasily. Jay in particular shifted on his feet, and Carlos’s arms reach out, slung low and tight around Jay’s waist. “Jay still gets to steal.”

He says it like a statement, but Mal, Evie, and Lydia are exchanging uncertain glances. “Hey!” They turn back to Carlos. “Jay still gets to steal.”

“I mean, it’s just objects,” shrugs Evie. “If our morality is focused on people’s wellbeing, it shouldn’t really be a problem, right?”

“Yeah,” Mal agrees, but there’s a frown line between her eyebrows. “I mean…it’s not good, obviously. But-”

“But we’re not going to let Jafar beat the shit out of Jay because _Auradonians_ have no concept of the real world.” Carlos snarls out the words.

“I-”

“If we’re focused on people not getting hurt, then Jay gets to steal because if he doesn’t, he’s going to get hurt, and that’s it.”

Glaring at Mal, Carlos is holding Jay so tight now that the older teen shifts, uncomfortable with the squeeze.

“Hey.” Mal’s voice brooks no argument, and no interruption this time. She steps forward, and Carlos’s eyes drop to the floor. One hand closes around Carlos’s wrist, and he lets go of Jay, a little reluctantly. She puts one cold palm against Carlos’s cheek, guides his face up so he meets her eyes. “Do you think that I don’t care about Jay?”

“No,” Carlos answers immediately, honestly. “No, I…I don’t think that.”

“Do you think that Evie and Lydia care about Jay?”

He looks past Mal’s face, meets the eyes of the twins. “Yeah. Yeah of course they do.”

“We’re a family, Carlos,” Mal reminds him. She drops her hand from his face, but he keeps his head up now. Now Mal turns her attention to Jay, setting her palm on his chest. There’s tension in his shoulders – he doesn’t like that she and Carlos are fighting. But as he looks down at her, his face relaxes into a smile. There’s such complete trust there. She could tell him no stealing, they were good now, and he would do it. He would bear every blow from Jafar and never once complain.

And she would never do that to him. On tiptoe, she kisses his cheek, and he chuckles. She feels the vibration in her fingertips. He catches her cheek in his hand and kisses her gently on the mouth. She smiles into it, pulls away and presses her forehead to his, even though she has to strain on her toes to reach him.

“Family,” she repeats, and Jay’s arm snakes behind her and presses her to his chest. He’s so strong. It feels so sure. They’re all in this little room together and the tension has relaxed out of Carlos’s brow, and they’re going to figure it out. They are.

Rather than let go of Mal or Carlos, Jay guides them to the floor and waves the twins over. They come, splitting as they do, so Lydia ends up next to Carlos and Evie by Mal. They press into each other, arms draping over shoulders, leaning in, pulling tighter together. One of the worst parts of Auradon was how divided everyone was, how they all kept away from each other, like touching was weird or unnecessary.

On the Island, people touched like it was nothing. They fucked for fun or for power or out of pure simple boredom. They huddled together for body heat and fought at the drop of a hat and were crowded so close on top of each other that brushing skin was nothing.

So when faced with the idea of returning to abusive parents, rival gangs, food insecurity, and the prospect of singlehandedly introducing the concept of morality on an Island populated by criminals and kids left to fend for themselves…

They pulled together, tight. Carlos and Mal lying against Jay, and Lydia and Evie lying against each of them. Arms around shoulders, hands running through hair, heads on chests, Evie hooking her leg around Mal’s leg, just to feel closer. After a few minutes of just resting there, feeling each other’s warmth, Mal starts again. It feels relentless, it feels unfair, but she knows that they need to know before they get back there. They need a plan.

“Carlos. Are you getting anyone?”

Carlos shifts against Jay. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Merida’s.”

At that, Mal winces, and she feels Evie squirm next to her. There’s a rumble as Jay clears his throat, and Lydia says nothing, but pushes closer to Carlos, who heaves a heavy sigh. “I know. My mom. It’s bad.”

“Three extra kids…” That’s Lydia, her voice freighted with worry.

“She’s…she’s not very patient,” Evie continues. “Leonidas is what, six? Seven? He’s, they’re Merida’s, so they’re going to be loud, and rowdy...”

“I’ll, ah, I should be able to keep the worst of it away from them.”

“How is you putting yourself in the way of those three kids any different than me not-stealing?” It’s Jay’s question, and though Carlos tosses his head at it, he keeps quiet. “If those three kids don’t mind with Cruella around, she’s going to beat the living shit out of you. Way worse than what I’d get from Jafar.” Carlos doesn’t need to concede the point, he just sighs, and seems to shrink against Jay, between him and Lydia. There’s a heavy, painful feeling in the air.

After a few minutes, Carlos speaks, and his voice is rough. “It’s not like I have a choice,” he points out fairly. “If we’re doing this whole looking out for them thing, I can’t…I’ll have to get between them and Cruella. All of them, and Cruella.”

There’s a catch in Mal’s throat that means she needs to swallow, hard, before she speaks. “Carlos, I’m not…I’m, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ask you-”

“No,” Carlos interrupts quietly. “No, I, I know. And I’m not going to just sit around and watch her hurt those dumb, soft kids. ‘S not their fault.”

“ _We’re_ not going to sit around and watch Cruella beat you half to death because they don’t know how to act,” Lydia retorts sharply. Carlos smiles darkly.

“With the barrier around, there’s no need to stop at half,” he points out. He knows that it’s a bad joke to make. It’s confirmed when Jay’s arm seizes tight around Carlos’s shoulders, and Lydia’s arms snake around him and hold him tight, and Mal and Evie are reaching for any part of him that they can touch. “I’m okay,” he tells them softly. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” Lydia argues, and she sounds angry but they all know it’s a cover for fear. “We’re not going to let her hurt you, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

“Can the little ones stay in the tree house? They’re a handful, but they generally listen to Cerise and Lucia. Maybe Lucia could even stay with them and Cerise…Cerise might actually be useful with all the chores and whatnot.”

Mulling it over, Carlos nods slowly but doesn’t look convinced. “It’s just, she’s Merida’s kid,” he finally says. “They’re all…I mean, she’s known for being headstrong. And outspoken. And three of her kids…”

“Can we put them somewhere else?” It’s Evie’s voice, tremulous.

“No one else will take them. Hell, I don’t know if Cruella will take them. But at least if they’re with me, someone’s trying to look out for them.” Carlos’s tone is grim, but as per usual, he’s being logical and practical and pretty much impossible to argue with.

Unwilling to let it drop, Mal reaches out and squeezes Carlos’s hand. “We won’t let her hurt you,” she promises.

“I know.” There’s still pain on his face. “But it’ll…it’ll just be messy for all of us. I’d…let’s talk about Evie and Lydia, for a bit.”

Mal sighs. “Yeah. Yeah. Guys?”

“We’re, ah…” Evie glances to Lydia.

“We’re getting Audrey,” Lydia finishes quietly. Almost before the name is out of her mouth, Jay is groaning.

“No, c’mon, that’s not fair,” he hisses, and Evie forces a smile. It doesn’t stand up in the face of his glower. She drops her head and turns to Mal, burying her face in Mal’s shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Lydia tries, clearing her throat. “Honestly, it’s fine. She’s just one, and Mom honestly probably won’t have a problem with her, because she’s a princess.”

“She’s going to try to make your lives Hell,” Carlos points out, dry and clear. Lydia’s throat works as she tries to come up with a response.

“She can’t…she’s harmless,” the twin tries feebly, but Jay shakes his head.

“She _hurt_ you,” he snaps, and Lydia’s shoulders sag.

“We’re still going to protect her,” Evie says, in a level, calm tone, having pulled her face out of Mal’s shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

“Is there anywhere else we can put Audrey?” Jay looks around at the others.

“She’d…she’d provoke the hell out of Cruella,” Carlos says quietly. “With, um, with the other kids around, I just don’t know-”

“Not you,” Jay snaps. “I’d…I’d offer but Jafar…” It’s hard for him to get the words out; he’s visibly frustrated with himself. “He, um…I think she’d been in danger. He’s a creepy old man, and she wouldn’t listen to me.”

At that thought, Lydia shudders, and Evie doesn’t look much better. “We’ll take her,” Evie says, determination in her voice. “It’ll be fine.”

“Won’t be,” Jay argues darkly.

Evie sighs, Mal can see that she’s clenching her fists. “We’ll be as fine as Carlos,” she finally settles on. “We’ll do our best, and I know you guys will do your best to protect us. At the end of it, it’s just a shitty fucking situation. And…and we’ll all end up hurting. But we’ve got to do this, and we’re going to try, and it’s going to be okay.” She swallows and tips her chin up, looking each of them in the eye in turn. She’s tired and scared and shaky, but she’s determined and she’s trying. Overcome with fondness, Mal presses her lips to Evie’s lips. Evie breathes out a light little sigh through her nose, and then her mouth opens, and the two lean into each other, comfortably, easily.

“C’mere,” Jay tells Lydia, and she scoots close enough for him to kiss her on the head and ruffle her hair. “Would hate for you to feel left out.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, but leans against him and Carlos all the same, not minding the affection. When Mal and Evie are done making out, Evie has a few hickies bruising up her neck, and has the decency to blush when Carlos raises an eyebrow. Mal just smirks, looking utterly self-satisfied. “All right,” she addresses them. “Who else do we have to worry about?”

“Only two other families in this first wave,” Carlos answers. “But…it’s Queen Anna’s, and the Charmings.”

“Shit. Queen Anna’s got like, five kids?”

“Six,” Lydia corrects grimly. “And Charmings have three.”

“Six,” Mal moans. “And I’m guessing they’re being sent to Hans?”

“No way he’ll take them,” mutters Jay. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for them. They won’t last a night on their own.”

“Yeah,” agrees Evie, wincing at the thought. “We may have to divide them and each take one or two.”

“That’ll be fine,” Mal says in a clipped tone. She’s getting overwhelmed and trying not to show it. “The Charmings?”

“They’ll be with Cressida,” Carlos answers quickly. “As long as we make sure no one messes with them, they’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Mal nods. “Good. That’s good.”

“It is good,” agrees Jay softly. “Now, Mal, try to breathe, okay? You don’t have to carry all this by yourself. We’ll figure it out together. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Mal forces a smile. “It’ll be okay.”

“It’ll be okay,” echoes Evie, glancing over to cue Lydia.

“It’ll be okay, her twin agrees.

Now they’re all looking at Carlos expectantly. He rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine, you weirdos. It’ll be okay.”

It’s like a ritual, like a prayer. They huddle tight together, and hope that somehow the words will be enough to guard them in the coming days.

_It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off - this takes place after the first movie; I don't know the others well enough to write about them/incorporate them into the story.  
> Second: There's going to be a lot of things in here that I made up/added (for instance, Evie having a twin). A lot of the time there's a reason for that I'd be happy to talk about if you're curious. Other times I Wanted To and it's My Fic. So if you're mad about all the OCs, just like. Don't read it.  
> Lastly, comments and questions are always so so appreciated! Thanks :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't come up with a good title for this chapter...if you have any ideas, let me know!

They’re all standing in the throne room, where Vlasta’s lounging on what was King Adam’s throne. Each teenager is held by at least one guard, and everyone has swords at their throats. One wrong move, and dozens could die. Evie keeps still and watches the proceedings with careful eyes. Mal is in front of her, held by two guards, and all that with her hands tied behind her back. Jay is getting the same treatment. Carlos only has one attendant, because they think he’s puny, think he’s weak. They’re dead wrong. Give him ten minutes to himself and he’d build something that’d be giving them hell while he ran out a back door. He’s so much more dangerous than they give him credit for, Evie thinks, wanting to shake her head, but all too aware of the blade hovering inches from her neck.

Of course, she only has one guard. She and Lydia both. That makes sense. They’re sidekicks, if she’s being frank about it. Window dressing. Eye candy. They don’t have Carlos’s brains, or Jay’s strength and confidence, or Mal’s cleverness. Lydia, Lydia’s kind, and she’s watchful, and Evie’s fun to play with, she supposes, but it’s no wonder they’re here with one guard each.

Evie loves her sister, she does, and she has a high opinion of Lydia, but she can’t help the mental gymnastics that have started in her head that strive to remind her on any ranking system, she’s the lowest. She’s headed back to the Island to live with her mother. She’s trying to imagine what the Queen will say to them when they return, but she knows no matter what she tries to prepare herself for, Grimhilde will find a way to knock them flat on their backs.

And she’ll have Audrey’s help. Like right now.

“Audrey, daughter of Philip and Aurora, you’ll be living with the Evil Princesses, Lydia and Evelyn.” The woman, Vlasta, smirks down from her stolen throne. She’s a diminutive woman, a nothing woman, someone you wouldn’t look twice at if you saw her on the street – but a distinctive air of magic hangs around her. It makes the air shimmer, just above her skin. It’s unnerving enough that Evie looks away after a few moments’ scrutiny.

Incredibly, even at sword-point, Audrey talks back. “They’re not really princesses,” she sniffs. “I mean, I guess you can name a dog Princess. It’s the same thing here. It doesn’t mean they actually hold any titles.”

Being compared to a mutt is humiliating enough without Evie having a visible reaction. She freezes her face in a composed, neutral expression, and she knows that next to her, Lydia is doing the same. Mal and Jay can’t look back, with knives at their throats and backs, so the twins are safe from their knowing eyes, but Carlos can see right through the unbothered masks, to the very real hurt beneath. Evie resigns herself to that. They’ll all be hurting soon.

That’s the worst part of all this. She just knows they’re all going to suffer soon. Going back to the Island, newly vulnerable, and seeing Carlos and Jay bruised again. Seeing Mal with no light in her eyes. Watching Lydia’s ribs get more and more prominent.

And Evie, weak and fearful and completely unable to do anything useful. Yeah. She can’t wait for that.

Lost in thought, the proceedings pass quicker than she would’ve thought, and soon they’re being chained to each other, in the groups they’re supposed to live in. Evie’s arm to Lydia’s arm to Audrey’s arm. Evie wishes that she could be between her sister and their tormentor. At least then she could try to be useful. Instead she forces a grimace in return to Lydia’s miserable smile.

The cuffs are magic. Once the kids are shoved through the barrier, they’ll dissolve. Lydia clears her throat and turns to Audrey. “Stick close, okay?” she says it quietly, trying to be friendly. Whatever animosity may have been between them before is too dangerous to hold onto now, and Lydia tries to tell Audrey that. “The Island isn’t safe. You’ll want to stay with us.”

“ _Want_ to stay with _you?”_ Audrey snorts. “Your own parents didn’t want you, I don’t think I’m under any obligations.”

This time, Jay happens to be next to them, being cuffed to all six of the Arendelle kids, just so they can’t run away. He leans over, gets in Audrey’s face.

“The Island is a scary place, little girl,” he informs her coldly. “You’d do well not to piss off the only people trying to protect you.”

Audrey harrumphs, but Evie can tell she’s unnerved. Shaking her head, Lydia shoots Jay a warning look. “What?” he makes an innocent face. “Nice is different than good.”

Around her, she can hear her friends explaining to their charges in low voices. Jay is telling the Arendelle kids to stick together and stay quiet, and for once, incredibly, Chad isn’t talking back. With all five of his younger siblings chained to him, Evie imagines even the bullheaded tourney captain will resist sarcasm. Meanwhile, Mal is telling Ben and Cassia not to talk to Maleficent, not to even look at her. And Carlos has Merida’s fiery-haired brood gathered around him. They’re even listening to him, probably because they’ve never seen mischievous, clever Carlos look so pale and nervous.

“You _have_ to listen to me, okay?” his voice is quiet, strained. “Just stay quiet, stay behind me, and I’ll explain things as they come just…just, you have to listen to me, okay?”

Cerise and Lucia look serious. The little one is wide-eyed, but Leo is still hopping from foot to foot, and he keeps wandering and being roughly brought to a halt when the handcuff that links him to his sister pulls taut. Carlos grimaces. “Will you be able to keep him under control?” he asks the older sisters, looking from Lucia to Cerise.

“He’s not a bad kid,” protests Lucia immediately.

Annoyed, Carlos shoots a glare her way. “That’s not what I’m saying, and I don’t have time to look out for your ego.” Mouth open, Lucia gapes at his briskness, but Carlos isn’t done. “We’re headed into a dangerous situation. If we’re going to be safe, you need to listen to me, and you need to trust me. If we can’t keep him quiet and out of the way, he’s going to be in serious trouble. Now. Are you going to help me, or are you going to cause problems?”

Eyes narrowing, Lucia starts to argue, but Cerise grabs her hand, inadvertently jerking Carlos’s arm forward. “We’re going to help,” she says firmly. When Lucia tries to speak, Cerise jostles her a little, and finally the younger girl just nods.

Some of the tension relaxes from Carlos’s face. From her place next to Lydia and Audrey, Evie is glad to see it. She’s so worried about Carlos. Protecting all those kids from a mother who’s half-mad and violent as Cruella…

She’s shaken out of her thoughts by prodding from the guard at her back. Now they’re guiding all of them, the first shipment at least, into the back of a delivery truck. Jay first, trailing the six Arendelle kids that are his temporary charges, and then Mal and her two, and then Carlos and his three, and finally, Evie leads her twin and their new roommate up into the open back. Not so open now, with eighteen kids and teenagers crammed into it. The Charmings are herded in alone – no guide to take them into the Island. They end up next to the twins and Audrey, and Lydia or Evie are thinking they should try to explain the Island to them. Maybe the twins can help soothe some of their fears, or share what they know about the Tremaines. In fact, Lydia is leaning over to do it when the guards close the back of the van.

And suddenly they’re in complete, perfect darkness.

Evie’s heart starts to hammer. Though she could see her sister moments before, she no longer remembers or knows where Lydia is in the darkness. It feels like being swallowed. There are tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“Lydia?” her voice is tremulous in the darkness. There’s murmuring around them, soothing voices as the little ones get scared and information passed from the villains to the Auradon kids. The fear in her voice cuts through all of it. “Lydia?”

She’s reaching out blindly, and gets her hands slapped away for her trouble. “Ew, get off me,” Audrey whines. In her panic, Evie’s forgotten that they’re literally chained together. Lydia keeps her head a little bit better, following the chain between the handcuffs they’re wearing, and pressing close to Evie. She can’t hold her sister, not with them linked together like this, but they clasp hands tightly. Both of them are hyperventilating by now. Lydia used up the last of her self-control getting to Evie, and Evie was so worried to begin with that she didn’t stand a chance.

There’s a tremendous commotion and plenty of complaining, but within a minute Jay is beside Evie, reaching around to slip his hand behind Lydia’s head and pull both of them in close. “Shut your eyes,” he orders quietly. “Shut your eyes. Both of you. Okay? It’s dark because you shut your eyes. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Mal hates that the twins’ vulnerability is on display. It makes her skin crawl, the idea that all of these clueless Auradonians are listening to Lydia and Evie have a panic attack. She starts talking, partially just to fill the air so the gasping sobs won’t be as audible.

“Okay, so Ben and Cassia are with me, Anna’s kids are all with Hans-”

“Are they seriously scared of the dark?” It’s Audrey’s voice, loud and contemptuous, cutting through Mal’s speech. Never has Mal wanted to smack someone so badly in her life.

“Maybe they’re upset because of where we’re headed, did you think of that?” Cerise’s Scottish brogue is loud enough to cover the muffled sounds of the twins panting, and Mal’s grateful for that, even though she knows the girl is wrong.

“Pathetic,” mutters Audrey, but the rest ignore her. They’re asking Mal questions, quietly, fearfully, and she and Carlos are trying to answer. All the while, the truck is swerving around corners none too gently, and they’re being thrown side to side, and the twins are quietly weeping.

Jay, for his part, is struggling. Usually he’d be wrapping each twin in a bear hug and squeezing them as tight as he could. Chest pressure always worked at least a little, he’d found with Carlos, and often a little weight on his chest calmed him down entirely. If that failed, he’d have Mal, who would do one of those weird breathing things, or Carlos, not saying or doing much, but adding another body to the crush so the twins didn’t feel as alone or afraid.

Instead he’s alone, jouncing along in the back of a windowless car, cuffed to six scared kids. They’re all cuffed so he can’t maneuver, can hardly comfort Evie and Lyd, and they can’t reach out to him, and fucking _Audrey_ keep hauling on the cuff that links her to Lydia. It’s jerking Lydia away from Jay and Evie, which only scares both twins more.

All through it, Jay keeps up a constant stream of reassurance, quiet, kind words, whatever he can think of to reach them. He keeps his voice soothing and strong, telling them they’re okay, he’s got them, he’s right here. And in the back of his mind, he can’t stop thinking that he never even knew that Lydia and Evelyn were afraid of the dark.

As the girls tremble against him, Jay wonders, feeling sick, what exactly they’re being sent back to, and saddled with _Audrey,_ of all people. He and Carlos are facing physical abuse, but he’s afraid that whatever Evie and Lydia are going back to is far more insidious. They never talk about it, and that scares Jay. He’d seen faint scars and the way pretty serious amounts of pain didn’t seem to bother either twin. The jokes they made sometimes, the way it was so easy for almost anyone to lay them low…he wondered what Grimhilde did to them behind closed doors. He feels certain that he wouldn’t like it.

And now this. The two of them, utterly undone by something as simple as darkness. It was more absolute than any darkness he’d been in before, that was true, and that scared even him a little bit – the boundlessness of it, the impenetrability. But the girls were hyperventilating. They were crying, and no Island kid cries easily. Especially not the twins.

What had Grimhilde done to them, in the dark at Grimm Castle?

The question turns over and over in Jay’s mind, as the truck bumps along. It’s getting to Jay, and finally he can’t take it when Audrey hauls particularly hard on Lydia’s arm, prompting a cry that isn’t just fear and worry, but real pain, too.

“Fucking stop that,” he snarls, not noticing his body tense all over, or the way it puts the twins even more on edge. “You’re cuffed to her so jerking her around isn’t gonna do anything, you moronic brat.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” Audrey’s voice rises, outraged. “You’re nothing! You’re a street rat! You’re a villain kid and I’m a _princess_ and I’m _annoyed_ that I’m chained to a couple of whiny sluts that _will not shut up!”_

Never has Jay wanted to hit someone so badly and not followed through. He can’t even begin to process the rage he’s feeling. Hurting Lydia is enough to make him want to jump her, and to call them, to call the twins _sluts_ in front of the entire van…

It’s gone quiet around them, Carlos and Mal no doubt feeling the same white-hot rage, and the Auradon kids stunned into silence by this display from one of their own. It takes all of Jay’s self-control to draw in a deep breath and respond levelly. “Just shut up, and stop yanking Lydia’s arm,” he tells her, surprised at how cool and detached his voice sounds, when really, he’s smoldering.

Unable to come up with anything snarky to say, Audrey stews in the blackness, and the others start talking again, hesitantly. It’s only a few minutes later that the doors are being hauled open. In the sudden light, they’re all left blinking, eyes scalded. Jay draws back carefully, letting the twins collect themselves. In a matter of minutes, they’ve smoothed their faces, dried their eyes, collected themselves so fully that it’s impossible to tell that they were crying. The perfection of their appearance sets Jay ill at ease. From panicking, hyperventilating, crying, to smooth-faced and smiling. Jay knows them better than anyone, and if he wasn’t looking, he wouldn’t know that they’d been crying, that they’d been upset at all.

He catches Mal’s eye and can tell she’s thinking the same thing. There’s the faintest of lines between her eyebrows.

There’s not much time to think about any of it, because they’re being pulled out of the van, blinking and staggering, still tied to each other. Completely emotionless, almost bored, the guards seize Jay first, all six of the Arendelle kids trailing behind him, dragged forward by the wrist. Without speech or ceremony, they push Jay through the shimmering gold veil that marks the barrier, feeding the Arendellians in after him. Next it’s the Charmings, and then the twins. They’re taking advantage of the fact that all the teenagers are still stumbling around half-blind.

Mal and her train are the last to go through. She tries to catch a last glimpse of the Auradonian sky before she goes through. Wonders if she’ll ever see it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So some edits: Chad is now Crown Prince of Arendelle, and he has five siblings. There are reasons for this, I promise. It doesn't (or hasn't yet) come up naturally in the fic yet, but my workaround for this is that he goes to boarding school in Auradon.  
> I'm also using a bunch of Auradon OCs as the other kids sent to the Island. If any of the kids have appeared in canon and I've forgotten about it, feel free to let me know and I'll switch the names - I just picked the ones that I thought were pretty.  
> That's all, I think! As always, comments and questions are very much appreciated :)  
> Oh, also, things are going to get preeeeetty dark from here on out so buckle up. Oops.


	3. pretty girls don't know the things that i know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating every Friday, just so y'all know!  
> Also, there is some triggering content here in regards to emotional and some physical abuse, which I'll explain in more detail in the notes if people are worried about that. I think the tags pretty much cover the upsetting content, but if there's anything that people think I've missed, please let me know and I'll edit for that.

The creepiest thing is the way everyone watches. It takes Audrey about two minutes to decide that. In the truck, chained to those stupid bawling girls, she’d fantasized about running the second the handcuffs dissolved around their wrists. But when the moment actually comes, she has to fight the childish urge to hide behind the twins.

It’s just all the eyes. Angry, predatory eyes, watching her, dissecting her. Even the little kids have watchful eyes.

And everything’s dirty. There’s grit everywhere, and trash on the street, and grime on people’s faces. They smell, too. It’s like they never shower. Audrey wants to cover her nose as she marches down the street beside the twins, but she has a feeling that wouldn’t be wise.

Although so far, no one is messing with them. The twins walk on either side of her in lockstep, and when Audrey steals glances at either of them, she sees this terrifying look on their faces. This unstoppable, ice-cold look in their eyes, that sends a shiver of fear down Audrey’s spine.

They’re different, on the Island. Before, she’d thought they were weird, unfriendly, a little dangerous. But seeing the way they stand, even Puck, sly, mischievous Puck, is standing with his feet apart, his head back, eyes narrow. Audrey had hardly recognized him. Wisecracking Jett had this vicious smirk on his face. And Mal…

She naturally takes her place at the head of them all, gives the assembled crowd a disdainful once-over. Under her emerald gaze, even adults turn away, flinch, drop their own eyes to the ground. For a _teenager._

And then they’d all split their separate ways. “Treehouse,” Mal had told the others in an undertone. “Tomorrow. Noon.”

Without even a word of assent, the group disappeared.

And now Audrey was walking between the twins, up towards a castle crouched like a gargoyle on the edge of town.

Way sooner than Audrey wants they’re standing at the door. Evie’s face is a perfect, cold mask as she raises a hand and knocks. It’s mere minutes before the oak creaks open. The woman who answers must have been waiting by the door.

She’s not what Audrey expected. To be honest, Audrey isn’t sure what she expected. But it definitely wasn’t a diminutive woman around her mother’s age.

The Evil Queen, proper name Grimhilde, is in her mid-fifties. She has crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, although none of the smile lines that are commonplace in Auradon. Her hair is silver, her eyes are dark. She’s shorter than both of her daughters, no more than five three where they’re both a willowy five seven She looks like she’s put on a little weight, but she carries herself with a fearsome self-assurance.

“Girls.” She greets them icily, before her eyes land on Audrey. “And our guest.” Now she smiles, but Audrey feels even less at ease. They’re shark’s eyes. Cold. Predatory.

“Come inside.”

Audrey gets a quick impression of a huge, dark, drafty castle. It’s dirty. It’s poorly lit. And it’s empty.

But Grimhilde whisks them through. “So sorry about the mess,” she trills as she walks. The twins march in front, dead silent, Evie first, then Lydia. Grimhilde follows Audrey, leaving her no opportunity to stop and look at anything. “It’s a large castle, and I have trouble cleaning it myself. The girls and I take care of the areas we use. Or at least, we did before they left.” A high, false, tinkling laugh follows that, and Audrey thinks she sees Lydia’s shoulders tense ahead of her.

They stop when they reach a room with a long dining table. This is clearly one of the rooms that Grimhilde keeps up. The walls are draped in heavy tapestries and the candles in the sconces are lit. The table in the center, all dark wood, is dusted and shines dully in the torchlight. There are four place settings, and a covered dish in the center.

In perfect unison, as if they’ve practiced, the twins pull out seats on the far side of the table. Grimhilde pulls out another, and smiles invitingly at Audrey. Obligingly, Audrey pulls out her chair. She is hungry, after all.

With a flourish, Grimhilde removes the cover to reveal a perfectly innocuous plate of meatloaf. Honestly, Audrey had sort of been expecting eyeballs, or blood, or something disgusting like a dog’s leg. “I know it’s strange to serve for lunch,” the queen says, with another tinkling laugh, “but I know that villains don’t always feed their prisoners. Please, go ahead.” She smiles invitingly at Audrey, and god, does she look harmless.

So Audrey serves herself a piece of meatloaf, and then passes the knife and fork to Grimhilde, who laughs merrily. “I’ve already eaten, love. I’m sure the girls will eat with you. They’ve always had big appetites.”

Wordlessly, Evie takes the utensils. Only Lydia notices her hand trembling on the knife. She cuts herself a thin slice, places it on her plate. Lydia copies her.

“Girls, make sure to leave some for our guest,” their mother chides them, and Audrey glances at her sideways. There’s plenty of food left, and the pieces taken by the twins can’t be but half the size of the half-eaten slice on Audrey’s plate. “They can be so greedy sometimes,” Grimhilde tells Audrey in a confidential tone, rolling her eyes.

Neither twin says a word. They tip their faces down and eat. It’s unnerving, like they’re zombies, or have forgotten how to speak.

“Well, girls, the least you could do is tell me about Auradon.”

Setting her fork down, Evie looks up with a gracious smile. It’s like a flip has been switched. “Thank you for making lunch, Mother,” she begins formally, and her mother makes a small, pleased sound. “Auradon was lovely. We missed you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were all too happy to get away from your old mother.”

“No, Mother, it was really strange being in Auradon without you,” Lydia picks up effortlessly. “It was pretty there, and clean, and the people were friendly, but there was so much that was unfamiliar. I’m sure you would’ve been a great help.”

Grimhilde harrumphs, but Audrey can see that she’s eating up the praise. What insufferable _suck ups_ the twins are. “Well, young lady, tell me about yourself.” Her shiny black eyes are on Audrey now, and the newcomer can tell there’s tension thick in the air. There’s something she’s not understanding. The twins are on eggshells.

Still, whatever they’re afraid of, it’s not like Audrey has anything to fear. Grimhilde isn’t _her_ mother, she’s not going to get grounded or yelled at or whatever it is that has the pathetic twins shaking in their shoes. She remembers the way they cried over a little darkness on the way here. Who ever said that Island kids were tough?

Folding her hands neatly in her lap, she turns to Grimhilde to respond. “My name is Audrey, and I’m the daughter of Duke Philip and Duchess Aurora.”

Grimhilde smiles fondly. “I remember Aurora. Lovely young woman.”

“You knew my mom?”

“Oh, of course! Yes, I married my husband around the same time that your parents got together. Beautiful couple.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Yes, we did have lives before you kids came along!” Grimhilde laughs at her own joke, and Audrey can’t help smiling, relief in her chest. This woman isn’t much different from Auradon ladies her age. She may have been dangerous back in the day, but she’s not going to hurt Audrey.

“Let’s get these plates cleared away. The girls and I have some work to do, and I want to hear what they were _really_ up to in Auradon.” Grimhilde winks at Audrey, and the girl feels a smirk curl up the side of her face. Now’s her chance to get back at the dumb bitches that thought they could take over her school without any consequences.

Audrey’s done eating, and Evie’s almost finished, but Lydia still has about half her food left when Grimhilde sweeps her plate away. The twin says nothing, just gathers her fork and Evelyn’s and starts toward the door. Audrey rolls her eyes. What a sheep.

In the kitchen, the twins wash the dishes and cover the meatloaf while Grimhilde quizzes Audrey on what all the royals are up to. As soon as the twins are done, their mother claps her hands. “Come on, girls. It’s been too long. We have work to do.”

A complex, fleeting expression crosses Lydia’s face. “Mother,” she says softly, then stops.

“Well?”

“Just, perhaps Audrey should go rest. We can work on our own.”

“No,” Grimhilde says decisively. “I want to hear from her what you were all up to in Auradon.”

Lydia swallows, and Audrey smirks at her, behind her mother’s back. The twins are in for it now. Grimhilde might not believe _everything_ Audrey says, but she can certainly start some ideas in the woman’s head. It’s only fair, after how the twins waltzed in and tried to steal all Audrey’s friends, her popularity, her very school. And they acted so above it all, so worldly and tough. All the time they were afraid of the dark and their mother was just another middle-aged woman who made a helluva mistake twenty odd years ago. Audrey really doesn’t see what the big deal is.

The next room is a weird though. It’s down the hall from the kitchen, and it’s spacious, bright. No tapestries here – there are windows cut high into the walls, that let in rays of light, and torches on the wall, making it the brightest room in the castle that Audrey’s yet seen. It’s stone and spare, but for the mirrors on the walls. They’re everywhere – some off in the corners are misshapen, warped, cracked or stained, but many are in good condition. There’s a stone platform in the corner, with a tri-fold set of mirrors ranged next to it.

The more Audrey looks, the weirder the setup becomes. There’s a set of cabinets in the corner, under yet another row of mirrors. In front of the platform are two chairs - one big, heavy armchair, and a wooden stool next to it, placed as if an afterthought. Grimhilde takes her seat in the armchair, and waves Audrey over to the stool.

“Girls, prepare,” she snaps at her daughters. They disappear to the other side of the room. Audrey turns to watch what they’re doing, but Grimhilde’s already leaning in. “Now tell me honestly,” she begins, “how did my girls act in Auradon? I did my best raising them, but it’s such a zoo over here. Tell me they didn’t disappoint?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Audrey purrs, “but I’m afraid…well.”

“Oh dear. What is it?”

“Well…” Audrey drags it out, savoring it. “I guess the schools here weren’t very good. I think the twins were failing. Fairy Godmother was looking at moving them back a grade, or two…”

Waving a hand, the Evil Queen dismisses the information. “Women don’t really need book smarts,” she says airily. “As long as they can catch themselves a good husband.”

Blinking, Audrey tries to process that opinion. Never mind Grimhilde’s backwards ways – she’s still determined to take down the twins.

Helpfully, Grimhilde baits her with the next question. “So, how did my girls do socially?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Audrey shrugs, enjoying her power. “A lot of girls didn’t like them much. They stuck to Mal pretty closely. _Very_ closely, you know.”

In the back of the room, Lydia and Evie are pulling out a collection of colored glass bottles. At Audrey’s heavy hint, Lydia looks up, meets Evie’s eyes. Her twin looks sick to her stomach, can’t hold Lydia’s gaze for more than a second before she’s squeezing her eyes shut, fighting the feeling that she’s going to puke.

“What does that mean?” Grimhilde’s question is sharp, her interest piqued.

“Just…oh, they weren’t very friendly to most anyone,” Audrey shrugs, twisting the knife. “They were…standoffish, I suppose. I sort of felt…” she pauses, pretends to have doubts about admitting it. “I sort of felt like they thought they were better than us.”

“Yes, fine, but what’s this about Mal?” Grimhilde is impatient, and Audrey feels a spike of annoyance that none of her careful jabs seem to be landing.

“Well _obviously_ she and Evie are hooking up,” Audrey sniffs, and this time she’s rewarded by a gasp from Grimhilde.

“Evelyn, Lydia! On the platform, now!” she orders. The twins obey silently, woodenly, pausing to set armfuls of little glass vials on the ground beside the platform. They climb on top of it, their bodies now illuminated by the falling shafts of light, repeated in the mirrors on either side and behind them. The platform is about waist-height, and they tower above their mother now.

“You know that’s no way to win a man,” their mother scolds, swatting Evie’s thigh.

“Yes, Mother. I’m sorry, Mother.” Despite the robot demeanor, the words seem genuine. Intrigued by the display, Audrey forges on.

“Well, it’s not like they stood much chance of winning a prince in Auradon, anyway,” Audrey informs Grimhilde, pretending to be apologetic.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I don’t mean to criticize…”

“Please, let’s hear it.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They’re a little…dirty,” Audrey starts, smirking at the twins. For a heartbeat, this helpless anger flashes across Lydia’s face, but it’s gone so fast Audrey can’t be sure she saw it. “They just, well, there’s a lot of pretty girls in Auradon.”

“And my twins are subpar.”

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” Audrey murmurs, even though that’s exactly what she wants to imply. Her mouth curls up in a grin as she goes in for the kill. “And they sure did their best to make boys like them.”

“You mean to say my girls were too ugly to catch a prince on their own, so they acted like whores to win one that way?”

The language Grimhilde uses brings Audrey up short. That, and the thick anger in her voice. It’s contempt, it’s disgust, it’s almost…hate. “I, um…” Audrey stumbles.

“You’ve said enough. Girls, strip.”

“W-what?” Audrey’s voice is small, shocked, but Evie and Lydia don’t flinch. They remove their jackets, shirts, and pants quickly enough. Then they pause, standing in bras and underwear before their mother.

She’s not sure whether she should look or not. Is it perverted? The twins are the ones who stripped right in front of her. Is she interested in women? She’s not sure, but _god,_ however much she liked lying to Grimhilde, she can’t deny the twins are beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Thick, dark brown hair curls around matching heart-shaped faces, and their collarbones, their slender necks, their big blue eyes; they’re just perfect, perfect, perfect. Everywhere Audrey looks, they’re beautiful, and to have everything doubled like that is striking. Audrey can’t stop looking. Her throat is dry. She can’t stop looking. They’re slim in the right places and curvy in the right places and their skin is flawless, their hair…Jealousy is curling around itself in Audrey’s gut, and she’s all but forgotten what’s going on when Grimhilde next speaks.

“Well. It looks like we have our work cut out for us.”

“What the hell is going on?” Audrey finds her voice, or, rather, her voice finds her. She didn’t plan to ask the question, it erupted out of her because she couldn’t stop it. She’s horrified and fascinated by the twins, still and silent as stone before her. 

“Lydia first. Evie, go to the mirror.”

Lydia lies down on her back on the cold stone, while Evie steps down, walks over to stand in front of the front-facing mirror. Without a word, she stares at herself.

Grimhilde is stalking circles around her prostrate daughter, and she has one of those colored glass bottles in her hands. “Do you know what a mother is for, Audrey?”

“I, um, I don’t…I’m not sure.”

“A mother is here to help her children. The best gift a mother can give a daughter is the right tools to find a good husband. Sometimes, that takes a lot of work.”

Audrey feels very, very scared.

“How can I make you better,” Grimhilde asks, “how can I make you pretty, if you lie to me? That’s what I asked my girls.”

“O-oh.”

“But they’re cowards,” Grimhilde explains, with a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “They’re liars and cowards and they’re _lazy._ ”

She jabs a finger hard into Lydia’s side as she asks the question, and Audrey hears Lydia’s stuttering breath catch in her throat. “Y-yes, Mother,” she replies.

“Now, let’s see what Auradon did to you,” Grimhilde mutters. Her sharp black eyes roam over Lydia’s exposed body. “What’s this?”

“A, a mole, Mother.”

“Disgusting,” Grimhilde pronounces. The mole in question is on Lydia’s upper thigh. As Audrey watches, horrified, Grimhilde pours some yellow, seething liquid into a spoon, and then spills it onto Lydia’s leg.

The brunette hisses, arching back against the stone as the liquid makes contact with her skin. Her hands shake at her sides, and then finally one hand flies up, fingers scrabbling at the liquid that’s now steaming on her leg.

Grimhilde’s hand cracks down, slamming Lydia’s hands back down on the platform. “No self-control!” she shrieks. “Evie, tie your sister’s hands.”

Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, Evie walks quickly to the back of the room and returns with a length of rope. She ties Lydia’s hands quickly, tightly, the whole time fighting the urge to hug her sister, pull her away. Instead, she settles for a quick hand squeeze. Lydia returns it, but god, her fingers are shaking.

“Mirror!” snaps Grimhilde, and Evie returns to her post at the full-length mirror, staring dully at her exposed body. Behind her, her mother is slamming Lydia back down on the table and spooning more liquid onto her thigh. Through gritted teeth, Lydia whimpers.

“Come here,” Grimhilde beckons Audrey, and though she’s revolted, Audrey realizes now that to say no to this woman would be dangerous indeed. On Lydia’s thigh, where her mother poured that bubbling liquid, there’s a raw red patch of skin. No mole. It’s been burned away. The horror on Audrey’s face must be evident, because Grimhilde cackles. “It’s a little bit of acid,” she explains, eyes twinkling. “It’ll heal in a few days. Can’t have my girls carrying around _flaws._ ”

It goes on and on and on. Grimhilde burns moles and freckles and callouses off Lydia’s body. She burns hair off, where she finds it. She pinches and pokes and prods and leaves Lydia weeping softly, perhaps from the pain, perhaps from the humiliation, perhaps from the sheer vicious cruelty of Grimhilde’s brutal critique.

Audrey feels ill, but there’s nowhere for her to go. She can’t exactly run away. She perches on her stool and tries not to look, tries not to listen.

By the time they’re done, Lydia’s shoulders are shaking. She’s sobbing. “Get up,” Grimhilde snaps. “Pathetic. Go snivel in front of the mirror. It’s your sister’s turn.”

Mute, appalled, Audrey watches the whole process repeat itself on Evie. This time, Grimhilde finds a thin white scar, from some kind of fall, and burns the whole front of Evie’s shin off. There’s a birthmark on Evie’s side that’s apparently a recurring issue, and callouses on her feet, and an errant dark hair on her chest.

Oh, and Grimhilde finds all sorts of new and different things to criticize in her other daughter. By the time Grimhilde’s done examining every inch of her, Evie’s hiccupping.

Finally, she unties Evie’s hands, and orders her to untie Lydia’s. Sitting frozen and forgotten on her stool, Audrey realizes there are tears tracing their way down her face. She wants this to be over so, so bad.

It’s not. Now the twins stand on the platform, facing each other. “Go on,” Grimhilde orders, smirking.

“Now. Which of you is prettier?”

Silently, the twins just look at each other. They’re inching closer together whenever Grimhilde looks away, but now she’s not looking away. She’s staring at each of them critically, evaluating. Finally, she makes her decree.

“Lydia. For today. But both of you need to drop this disgusting weight. I’m raising princesses, not pigs. No food for three days.”

“None?” Audrey yelps behind them, and Grimhilde rolls her eyes.

“They could survive for months on fat alone,” she informs the girl, tone scathing. “Lydia. Get dressed and show this girl to your room.”

“M-mother?” Evie’s voice is quiet, quivering.

“You’re going to the dungeon.”

At those words, Evie’s face crumples. Lydia grabs her arms, hugs her, but Grimhilde yanks hard on Evie’s ankle, and she crashes to the platform on one knee, yelping as she falls. She hits hard, will definitely have a few bruises in the morning. Not that Grimhilde cares. She grabs Evie’s upper arm and marches her from the room, even as she and Lydia try to cling to each other.

Seconds later, the pair is out the door, and it’s just Audrey in the room with Lydia. With naked Lydia, whose shuddering sobs are shaking her thin shoulder blades. She steps down off the platform and then just stands there for a second, holding onto it with white knuckles.

After an endless, sniffling moment has passed, Lydia drags on her clothes, quick and businesslike. She steps in front of the mirror and tucks her hair behind her ears. She dithers for a few moments longer, and then finally, reluctantly, turns to face Audrey.

The Auradonian is frozen in her stool, face shining wet with tears. Her blue eyes are huge as she looks up at Lydia.

“Come on,” Lydia says softly, stretching out a hand. “I’ll show you our room.”

“What the fuck just happened?” Audrey demands as she follows Lydia through the castle. Her voice is high and panicked. “What the fuck just happened?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Lydia tells her softly. They’ve reached a set of winding stone stairs, and Lydia vanishes up them, Audrey struggling to keep up behind her.

“Why did she do that to you? What, what _was_ that? Is she crazy? She’s crazy. Where is she taking Evie?”

“Audrey.” Lydia’s voice floats down the stairs from somewhere above. “This castle is made of stone. It echoes. Please wait till you get to the room and we’ll…we’ll talk about it.” Her voice is resigned, but still shakes on the last few words.

Gulping, Audrey obliges. The thought of that madwoman hearing her and coming after her…she had to fight not to squeak. The way Grimhilde’s eyes had gleamed as she tortured her daughters…

After what feels like a hundred stairs, they reach an oak door. Lydia’s standing in front of it, hand resting on the handle. “Well?” demands Audrey, a little hysterically. “Get inside!”

Ducking her head, Lydia nods. “Yeah,” she agrees quietly. “Just…not sure if she’s come up here since we left.”

She shoves the door open, and her shoulders sag with relief upon seeing everything covered with dust.

It’s a big, round room, with a little twin bed pushed up against the wall on one side. There are two dressers, and a closet overflowing with fabric. A vanity, with a cracked mirror, which is absolutely covered in bottles and brushes and makeup. There’s a bookshelf, and a desk in the corner with dried herbs hanging behind it. Scales and a mortar and pestle sit on the surface of it, and dusty glass bottles line the edge.

That’s where Lydia goes first, uncorking one of the bottles and smelling it. Her face turns with disappointment.

“What? What is that?”

“It’s just…soothing. On the acid burns. But it’s too old to use, now.”

“What the _fuck_ was up with the acid? With, with any of that? What the hell is wrong with your mother?”

Audrey’s shut the door behind them and is leaning back against it, and now her full hysteria is coming out. If that’s how Grimhilde treats her own flesh and blood, how is she going to treat Audrey?

Lydia’s eyes are on the ground. “Grimhilde…” she breathes out, slow and deliberate. “My mother…she, ah, she wants us to marry well. And, and, in order for that to happen, we have to be…perfect. She um, she sees it as helping us.”

“She’s _torturing_ you!”

“Yeah.” Lydia’s voice sounds tired and dead. “Don’t, um, don’t worry. You’ll be safe. She doesn’t especially care about anyone else just...just us and how we look. Or how we, um, appeal to other people.”

Audrey’s staring at Lydia, and Lydia can’t return her gaze. The young woman has sat down on the bed, more like her legs collapsing beneath her, and she’s staring at the floor with this blank, dead look that makes Audrey’s breath catch in her throat.

“I’m...” The words _I’m sorry_ die in Audrey’s throat. It’s her fault. At least partially her fault. She told Grimhilde those lies about the twins, laughed as Grimhilde got angry. She didn’t realize that here, getting angry meant burning holes in your kids and examining every inch of them for flaws and criticizing everything about them. “Why’d you do it?” she demands, feeling desperate. “Why not resist, why not…there’s two of you, why not just tell her to shut up?”

Lydia shakes her head. “As long as we live here, as long as we do what she says, we’re under her protection.”

“That’s her _protection?”_

“There are worse things on the Island than Grimhilde,” Lydia explains quietly, finally meeting Audrey’s eyes. “The two of us, on our own…people would…” she trails off. “But with Grimhilde’s protection, we’re safer.”

“ _That’s_ safer?”

“It is, and that should tell you something about the Island.”

The thought makes Audrey choke a little. “No,” she breathes. “No…no fucking way.” She swallows hard. “There’s no way…how does shit like this happen? Can’t you call the police?”

“There’s no police here, Audrey,” Lydia explains, almost laughing. “It’s the _Island.”_

“But, but...the King and Queen must not know…how bad things are…” Audrey’s stumbling, trying desperately to make the new information fit with her idea of the world.

“Maybe they don’t know.” Lydia shrugs. “Maybe they don’t care. Either they’ve never checked, or they’ve ignored it. Which option do you prefer?”

Audrey’s speechless. Her throat works as she tries to swallow. “I’m sorry,” she says pitifully. It finally bursts out of her, and around the same time, she starts to cry. “I’m so sorry. Lydia, I swear, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” Lydia shakes her head tiredly. “You didn’t know. You had no idea. It’s…it’s really not your fault.”

There are ugly sobs working their way up Audrey’s throat now. “I-I told her…I _lied_ to her…all that stuff about you in Auradon…”

“Audrey, listen. Grimhilde would’ve done all that no matter what. It’s…it’s not any different from what usually happens.”

Lydia wails. “That _usually_ happens?”

Lydia rubs her hand across her face. “Sundays. On Sundays she works on us.”

“Every _week?!”_

“It’s…everyone has something, Audrey. Ours is just…just, that.”

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“Are you actually? Because we don’t have a bucket so you’re going to have to hang out the window.”

With difficulty, Audrey controls herself. She’s gulping for a few moments, gasping, and Lydia shakes her head. “Sit down.”

Audrey drags the seat out from behind the desk, and sits down, her hands balled into fists, her head down. She’s swallowing sobs for a few minutes. Lydia waits.

When Audrey finally looks up, she’s not sobbing anymore, although there are still a few errant tears coming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry for my part in what just happened,” she says, and her voice is firm, though watery. “I’m…I’m sorry for all of it that was…that was…” she gulps hard and almost loses it again.

“Look, it’s fine,” Lydia says softly. “It’s…we’re used to it.”

An aborted cry echoes from Audrey’s throat. “I-I-I…”

“Look. I know it’s horrible. I know you’re sorry. But I really…” Lydia sighs explosively. “I really don’t like to talk about it. So if you have questions, I’ll answer, but otherwise I’d really, really like to move on.”

Nodding, Audrey searches her brain for any more questions she might have. “Is that, is that as bad as it gets?”

Lydia nods dully. “Pretty much.”

“Is it always that bad?”

“Not always. But…often.”

There’s only one more question Audrey can think of. “Where’s Evie?”

Lydia’s face crumples. “Evie’s…um, Evie’s…” she takes a second to drag in a ragged breath. “Evie’s in the dungeon.”

“The…the dungeon?”

With difficulty, Lydia clears her throat. “It’s, um, it’s in the base of the castle, and it’s just…just pitch black down there. There’s no light, anywhere, and she um, when she’s mad, she’ll leave us down there for…hours. Days, if it’s, if it’s really bad.”

“Like…like solitary confinement?”

“Worse.” Lydia’s short of breath just thinking about it. “It’s…it’s so dark. And there are…” she gulps. “There are rats.”

“ _Rats?!”_

“No food and no water,” Lydia continues listlessly. “You can’t…you can’t tell if time is passing, and all you can think about is that you’re hungry and thirsty and tired and scared, but if you try to sleep the rats come.”

Audrey’s crying again. Lydia keeps talking.

“Sometimes, sometimes she puts us in there when there are other prisoners, ones she’s forgotten about. Sometimes they’re strong enough to hear us and find us and…” her voice goes out, she shakes her head hard. “People can’t be killed on the Island, did you know that? Anything that could be construed as murder is prevented from being lethal, through the magic of the barrier. Through the mercy of Auradon. Did you know that?”

“N-no,” squeaks out Audrey.

“She’ll just leave them down there, with no food or water or sunlight, until they’re completely insane, and too weak to do anything but breathe…barely. You can hear them, when it’s quiet, or you think you can hear echoes. Just breathing, in the distance, and you don’t know if they’re coming closer, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there, and you don’t know if Mother locked the bars, and you’re alone, and it’s so fucking dark.”

“Stop,” Audrey begs. “Please, stop.”

Lydia breaks out of her weird reverie. “I’m sorry.” She gulps down the tears rising in her throat, smooths her face out. “I’m sorry, that was…unnecessary.”

“That…that’s where Evie is?”

A flash of exquisite pain crosses Lydia’s face. “Yes.”

Moaning like an animal in pain, Audrey lets her head drop into her hands. “I hate it here. I hate it here. I hate it here!” she chants it like it’s a prayer that will save her.

“I know. I’m sorry. Someone…they will oust Vlasta, don’t worry,” Lydia offers. Her voice is genuine. “Someone will take her down. It’s the world against her. Sending you all to the Island, that’s grounds for war, and Arendelle is still out there, Atlantis, plenty of kingdoms…”

“Yeah,” agrees Audrey, sniffling. “Yeah.” She shakes her head. “Fuck. This is…you have to…you have to live like this?”

Lydia’s shoulders stiffen again. “Yes.”

“Do you think she’ll…do you think she’ll do that to me?”

Audrey’s question is fearful, pitiful. Lydia shakes her head emphatically. “She, um, she really doesn’t care about anyone except us. She might use you to keep us in line, but she doesn’t care about whether you look pretty, or act nice.”

“I won’t do it,” Audrey swears resolutely. “I’m not going to…I know I did today, and I’m sorry, I, I didn’t know. But I’m not going to let her use me from now on.”

At that, Lydia purses her lips. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

Lydia shrugs. “Grimhilde likes things to go her way. If you play along, pretend to hate us, or tell her when we’re, um, misbehaving…it might be safer that way. It might be easier.”

“For me! But, but what about for you?”

“You don’t need to worry about me. About us.”

“Look, I know I was a brat before.” It’s uncomfortable to admit it, but Audrey’s not one to balk from the truth once she’s seen it. “I’m…I’ve been spoiled. And mean to you. But I…I didn’t realize…I never thought…” Lydia waits patiently, refusing to speak and give the other girl an easy way out. “I guess I’m just, sorry, and I didn’t realize, and…” her voice fades to almost a whisper. “I’m not a bad person. I’m not going to let you get hurt like that.”

“You have to.”

“Well, I don’t have to contribute!”

Audrey’s glaring now, daring Lydia to challenge her, and Lydia can’t help but chuckle. “Think about it tactically,” she offers. “If Grimhilde thinks she’s hearing everything we’re up to, she won’t spy on us herself. She won’t make…wild accusations, just to punish us for things she _thinks_ might have happened.”

“Does she do that?”

“Audrey. Yes.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just, the woman isn’t exactly a paragon of reason.” It’s a joke, but all Lydia gets is a weak smile from Audrey. “Look, if you pretend to inform on us, and all the offenses are small, it could…it could help.”

“Really?” Audrey sounds skeptical.

“Really. We’ll just go over what’s safe to say, and you’ll repeat it to Grimhilde on Sundays, and hopefully spare us some pain.”

“Right. And this isn’t just a fake little mission you’re giving me so I can feel like I’m helping you?”

Tipping her head back, Lydia smiles at the girl, surprised. Audrey might be sharper than Lydia gives her credit for. “No, I genuinely think it will help,” she answers honestly. “And…and if it makes you feel like you’re helping us, that’s not exactly a problem, is it?”

For a long moment, Audrey considers it. “Fine. Okay, yeah, we’ll try it. If it works, we’ll keep it up, and if not…”

“If not, what?” Lydia’s voice is patiently exasperated.

“I’ll, I’ll threaten her. I’ll tell her that I’ll tell my parents when I get back to Auradon, and they’ll-”

“They’ll do _what,_ Audrey?” Now Lydia’s voice is less amused. “Auradonians don’t care about us. No, no, no – shut up.” Audrey tries to interrupt, and Lydia cuts her off. “The first one of you to _maybe_ care about what’s happening on the Island was Prince Ben, _maybe,_ and he saved five out of a couple hundred kids.” At the stunned look on Audrey’s face, Lydia sighs. “I know you mean well. But just trust me, threatening Grimhilde…is the _worst_ possible thing you could do.”

“But…but…”

“Even if things do change after all this,” Lydia explains patiently, “Grimhilde isn’t going to believe that Auradonians care about us until she sees it. So if you threaten her, it’s going to make her very angry.”

“Fine,” mutters Audrey. “Fine. But if your plan doesn’t work, what then?”

“Then…then we just get through it. There’s nothing else we can do.”

“But, but what about Mal? Maleficent rules the Island, why can’t Mal tell Grimhilde to cut it out, or-”

“Mal doesn’t know.” Audrey thought it was impossible for Lydia to get paler, but suddenly she’s bone white, stricken. “None of them know, and you can’t tell them.”

“What? Why not? They’d stop it, wouldn’t they? You guys look out for each other. Maybe they could help, you should definitely…” Audrey trails off, seeing the fearsome look on Lydia’s face. Under her scowl, there’s fear. And shame.

“No. No. I don’t want to tell them, and you’re not going to tell them.”

“But why _not?”_

“Because I don’t want to!” Lydia’s hands are twisting in her lap; she’s wringing them. “I don’t want to…what am I going to say? My mother strips us naked and-and finds everything wrong with us and burns what she can out of our skin, and, and…” she takes a deep, shuddery breath. “It’s…I _don’t_ want to talk about it. And there’s nothing any of the rest of them can do.”

“Surely they know something’s up,” Audrey points out fairly.

“They know that Grimhilde is hard on us. That she’s…critical, and that she starves us sometimes. That’s all they need to know and all we want them to know.”

“But why-”

“Audrey, it’s humiliating.” Lydia swallows. She doesn’t like spelling it out like this. “You…you saw it. She stripped all our and criticized every…every single thing about us…it’s not something I want to explain, or talk about, or have anyone know, okay? They can’t do anything to help. All it will do is hurt them and embarrass me and Evie. So please just…just don’t.”

“Fine,” Audrey sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Fine.” There’s a pause. “We can’t…we can’t go get Evie, can we?”

Lydia winces. “I want to, Audrey, but I promise you, if we did that, Grimhilde would…she would do something so much worse.”

“Okay. Okay, so what are we gonna do?”

“Tomorrow, hopefully, she’ll let Evie out. We’ll have chores in the morning – I don’t know if you’ll be expected to help, but if she wants you to, best not to argue. Best to just…just do whatever she says.”

“I will,” agrees Audrey fervently. “I’ll do whatever she says.”

“Yeah. Good. At noon, we’re going to meet Mal and the others in the woods, and we’ll try to make a plan.”

“What, what kind of a plan? To get us out?”

“Slow down there. Before we start trying to get you off the Island we have to make sure everyone’s as safe as we can make them.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m not what anyone’s worried about. The Arendelle kids are with Hans, and there’s no way he’ll let them stay with him. Merida’s will be in danger because Cruella is just…she’s crazy. And no one knows how Maleficent is going to react to Ben and Cassia.”

“Why are you looking out for us?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why are you looking out for us? It sounds like…shit, you guys have plenty to deal with on your own. Why look out for a bunch of pampered hero kids?”

Lydia shakes her head. “You think so goddamn little of us.”

“I do not!”

“Okay, well I’m not asking you why you want to look out for me, because I know that as much as we didn’t get along, you don’t want to see me get hurt. Because you’re a good person.”

“Yeah,” agrees Audrey cautiously. “I guess.”

“Why do we have to have a reason? Why can’t we just be good people too? It’s because we’re Island kids, right? Right? We have to have an ulterior motive; we can’t just want to look out for you because we don’t want you hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“You have it _so much harder_ than we do. I…I’ve never had to risk anything to help someone in need. And you’re risking…everything.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is.”

Lydia lets out a gusty sigh. “Whatever. I’m…honestly, I’m exhausted. What, what we just went through with Mother, it, um, it takes a lot out of me. I’m…I’m going to take a nap, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course! Of course. I’m sorry. Um, I’ll just…do you have any books?”

Lydia pulls a face. “Grimhilde isn’t a fan. We have a few – here, I’ll show you.” She pulls up a floorboard in the corner, removes a dusty tome. “It’s not the most fascinating, but it’s the one I’d recommend for right now.”

Audrey blows the dust off the cover, revealing the gold script of the title. _History of the Isle of the Lost: The Development of a Modern Penal Colony._

“O-oh,” she stammers.

“It’s written by an Auradonian,” Lydia explains around a yawn, “so it’s missing everything after they actually, y’know, put the villains in here. But it explains the barrier, some of the magical laws that govern things around here. If you don’t want that-”

“No, I think it’ll be useful,” Audrey says resolutely. “Get some sleep. I’ll, uh, I’ll read.”

“All right. Wake me up if you need anything. Don’t leave the room. If you hear someone on the stairs, wake me up.”

“Okay.” Audrey bobs her head, looking nervy. “I will.”

“Okay. I should be up in an hour, two at the most. If I’m not, just wake me up. We’ve got some work to do.”

“Sounds good,” Audrey agrees, trying to sound chipper.

“And, um, if you have any questions, wake me up, and if-”

“Lydia.”

“Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”

Lydia chuckles. “All right. All right.” It takes her only a few moments after she crawls under the covers. She turns her head to the side and passes out.

For a long moment, Audrey watches her. How tired she must be, how wrung out, how stressed, how exhausted, to drop right to sleep like that. And she must be hungry, too. Audrey knows it. And hurting, all over, all those places where the skin is raw, laid bare…

There’s a sharp, insistent pang in Audrey’s chest as she thinks about it. Sighing, she turns back to the book. There’s a lot she needs to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers in this chapter: Grimhilde is very insulting to her daughters, particularly in regards to physical appearance, uses acid to remove what she sees as imperfections, restricts the twins' eating, and essentially puts Evie in solitary confinement.
> 
> Pretty intense stuff! What do you guys think about Audrey's turnaround?


	4. ain't it fun, living in the real world?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I decided to do chapter titles, literally because I came up with a really good one for like the 8th chapter and decided to just go with it haha.   
> See end notes for triggers in this chapter!

As soon as Carlos hears Mal’s decree, he’s off. Treehouse tomorrow at noon, that’s all he needs to know. Now, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like the months’ worth of chores that have been left undone at Hell Hall.

With a look, he cues Cerise, and she grabs Leonidas’ hand. They follow him through the crowd, and he tries not to be frustrated with how slow they are. They’re lucky, so lucky that Cruella wasn’t waiting at the gate, ready to tear into him. They might just have some time. And he _doesn’t_ want to waste that time stumbling through the bazaar.

Behind him, he knows Lydia and Evie are marching along, walking quickly, but not running, as he is. They have monstrous Audrey between them, and they walk with heads held high, gazes icy, so no one dares mess with them. With him, things are a little different.

He’s herding along three brand-new kids, one of them a child, and honestly, at ten, Lucia’s a child too. They all have brilliant, flaming hair, that corkscrews off their heads and makes them a spectacle from a mile off.

And he’s trying to drag them through the bazaar at top speed.

Without Jay beside him, and having been gone a few months, people are ready to try him. There are smirks as he passes, hissed comments, hands reaching out to grab at the Auradonians, who yelp aloud, making it so much more obvious that they’re vulnerable. The crowd is getting bolder. Carlos needs to make a statement.

The next time someone’s hand contacts Cerise’s wrist, and she jolts to a stop, Carlos rounds faster than can be believed. He’s growling in the face of the tall, dirty man who made the grab. It’s Edgar, disgraced butler, unable to get over the fact he was banished here over a mangy family of cats. His teeth are showing when he touches Cerise.

Then Carlos is snarling at him, not even saying words, just growling, and he shoves Edgar back with one hand. Proper food and tourney practice on Auradon have added some muscle to his wiry frame. The man takes a step back, and then Carlos is gone, melting back into the crowd and towing his charges with him.

A few more repetitions of challenges, Carlos’s in-the-face response, and the crowd backs off. It helps that they’re getting farther away. A few more blocks and Hell Hall looms before them – a decrepit old townhouse that looks ready to topple into the street. The gate is hanging open. If Carlos squints, he thinks he can see the front door standing open too. God, he hopes Cruella isn’t in. If he just has some time…

Spinning, he turns to face the Auradonians, who are panting and disheveled from their dash through the market. “Listen. Stay behind me. If you see Cruella, just…just get out of her sight, okay? Find a room, hole up in there, and wait for me to come get you. Okay?” There are three scared faces staring back at him. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Cerise agrees. She’s whispering.

Carlos sighs. “Okay. C’mon.”

He leads them into the front yard, full of dying plants and weeds that are somehow thriving. The door is standing open. Carlos gnaws on his lip. “Okay. Okay. You guys stay here. If I don’t come right back out, go around back, and wait back there for me to come get you.”

“Understood,” Cerise agrees, nodding sharply. Carlos can tell that he’s going to be extremely grateful for her presence in the coming days.

With that, he slips into the house, feet as quiet as he can make them. He peers up and down the halls, peeks into Cruella’s favorite rooms. Squeezing his eyes shut, he slams a door, hard, and waits with bated breath for the uproar. Nothing comes.

He slides back out the door, and waves the others in. He shuts the door behind them. It’ll buy them a minute, maybe, when Cruella does return.

When he turns back to the kids, they’re examining the house in shocked silence. Carlos looks with them, and winces at the damage. It’ll take him weeks to clean it up.

Hell Hall is trashed. There’s broken glass on the floor, rotten food smeared on the walls and windows. There’s dust and dirt and grime everywhere. Clothes are strewn everywhere, things Cruella tried on and tore off, bored. It looks like there’s been a fire in the kitchen. It looks like someone spilled wine, or something else dark red, all over the carpet in the living room.

Already exhausted, Carlos passes a hand over his face. “Okay. Okay, so I have some work to do.”

“I’ll help,” Cerise offers immediately. “You have to clean this whole place yourself?”

“Yeah,” Carlos mutters. “Yeah. It’ll…okay. We should just…should just get started. Lucia, bring Leo, come here.”

He shows them to the closet, the very back, where there’s a little indent. It’s too small for even Leonidas to stand up, but they can all sit up without hitting their heads. It’s dark back there, and dusty. There’s a heap of tattered old blankets, and a big flashlight, and a notebook bursting with papers, which Carlos shoves beneath the blankets quickly, furtively. “Please…” he sighs, looking at the hyperactive little Leo. “Please try to stay here.”

“What is this?” Lucia asks, nose wrinkling.

Carlos snorts. “It’s my room. It’s the safest place for you and Leo to be when Cruella comes back.”

“You…you sleep here?” Lucia squeaks. “You stay here? This is a closet! This isn’t even a closet, it’s a closet inside a closet-”

“And it’s what I’ve got. I know Leo will be bored, but please, try to keep him here, and try to keep him quiet.” Carlos’s voice leaves no room for argument. Quelled, Lucia nods slowly, still looking around the tiny space, at the bare boards and the cracks between them that let in the wind. Carlos sighs. “I’m sorry. We’ll…we’ll figure out something more sustainable. But for now, this is the best I can do, and I need to be able to count on you.”

“You can,” Cerise promises, and Lucia nods. Leonida is watching, wide-eyed, and he nods too, but Carlos knows better than to count on a seven-year-old to control himself, especially for the interminable hours until Cruella returns.

“Okay. Then let’s get started.”

Carlos starts in the entryway, and perhaps he should be more tactical, but it’s too overwhelming for him to even think about everything he has to handle. Together, he and Cerise scrub the filth from the walls, drawing on the meager supplies Carlos had abandoned when he left for Auradon. They haul bucket after bucket of water in from the backyard, where the pump is sputtery and puts out water full of rust. After the walls, Carlos begins to scrub the floor, while Cerise carries the rug out back, drapes it over the wall, and beats it with a broom to get the dust off. Unused to the task, she comes back in twenty minutes later to find that Carlos has finished at least this room by himself. The walls are scrubbed, the floor too, and the dirty water has been mopped up and dumped on the plants out front, in a hopeful, watering way.

Next is the kitchen. The dried and rotting food everywhere is disgusting, and no water comes from the tap when Carlos flicks it. He opens the ancient refrigerator and balks at the stink of rotten food. “Must’ve broken,” he mutters, and lets his head fall forward against the freezer. “We’ll need…we’ll need to find someone to fix this.”

“Can’t…can’t Cruella do some of this?” Cerise asks gingerly, elbow deep in a trash bag as she scoops old food into it. “Can’t she…?”

“Cruella’s crazy,” Carlos says coldly, grimly. “We can’t count on her for anything, except for violent anger. Trust me on that.”

Wide-eyed, Cerise walks him stalk around the kitchen. “Okay. Okay,” he sighs. “I’m going to work on this, I need you to find all the glass and try to make a list of what’s broken. We’ll need to replace all of it.”

Businesslike, Cerise nods, and she’s off to scrounge a pen and a paper. While she’s gone, Carlos finishes cleaning the kitchen, as quickly and efficiently as he can. He’s never washed dishes so fast, has never scrubbed so hard at the stains on the counter.

As fast as he worked, there was always more. The walls were clean, but the floors and the windows were filthy. He did the best he could, a quick, sloppy job on both, and now the rugs looked disgusting by comparison. He and Cerise beat the rugs outside until their arms ached, but and scrubbed at stains with soap and water, but there were things ground deep into the fibers of the carpet, patches that wouldn’t come up.

A bad feeling was growing in Carlos’s chest.

Still, he couldn’t stop. Scrub the windows, floors, and walls, beat the rugs, pick up the glass, throw out the food, use the wash water for the dying garden. Bag after bag of garbage was carried out to the corner. The list of things that Carlos needed to replace grew and grew. He darted around the house, picking up clothes and shaking them out, rehanging the clean ones and hauling out the tub from the shed in the back to wash what was stained.

Hours passed. Carlos’s arms were shaking with exhaustion and he wouldn’t stop. Now it was time to try to stitch together what was ripped with shaking fingers, hiding the new seams on pillows by placing them just so on the couch. Cerise was hanging out the wash on a line outside, and Carlos was praying that the sun or fading heat would dry everything before nightfall, so he could repopulate Cruella’s sparse closet.

There was so much to do. Lightbulbs to replace and dusting to do, books and trinkets to place just so on shelves and dressers. The later it gets, the harder Carlos’s heart pounds in his chest. He knows she’s coming. It’s just a matter of time.

There’s so much to do, and Carlos can feel his energy flagging. There are walls to be repainted, and furniture to be replaced, or repaired as best he can. He needs to wash the sheets of her bed, weed the garden, find the source of the leak that’s created a huge dark stain on the floor in the bathroom. He needs to…he needs to…

He’s scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot on the hall floor when a shadow falls over him. Carlos’s blood runs cold, but when he looks up, it’s just Cerise, flanked by Lucia and whining Leo. “Carlos,” she says softly. “We’ve been cleaning for hours. The kids have been hiding for hours. We’re hungry, and I’m sure you’re hungry too. Can we…?”

“No, we can’t,” Carlos answers shortly. He’s starving; hasn’t eaten in probably two days, and when he stands up too fast, his vision greys around the edges. “We can’t, okay? Please trust me. Tomorrow will be easier but tonight we need to get as much done as we possibly can, before she gets back, and you guys need to stay hidden, because she could come back at any time. Okay?”

This time there’s no affirmative reply. He heaves a sigh. “Okay. Lucia, please, _please_ take Leo back into the closet. Cerise, forget the, um, the rug you’re working on or whatever, and try to find something edible in the garden. There should be a few things, it won’t be anything good, but there’s nothing else edible in the house.”

“Okay,” Cerise nods. “All right. Sounds good.”

They split, and Carlos can hear Lucia grumbling about having to keep the kid entertained in the back of a dark closet, but Carlos pays her no mind. He doesn’t have time, doesn’t have time, doesn’t have time. He’s been gone for months. The grime is caked on. He’s done the fastest job he can and still, there’s dirt everywhere, filth. He needs to wash the outside of the windows, needs to wash the outside of the _house,_ scrape the piled-up crap off the roof so the ceiling doesn’t cave in. There are probably mice in the attic, maybe birds, and he needs to restock the fridge at least a little. The list in his head just grows longer and longer, and all he can do is keep scrubbing the floor as if his life depends on it. He’s almost hysterical, at least internally.

Will Cruella check the closets? Will she check the insides of the cupboards for dust? Will she expect Carlos to have dinner, or a cocktail made for her? Will she find the kids in the back of the closet? What will she think of the flame-haired group invading her house?

How bad will the beating be? It all comes down to that. How bad will the beating be?

God, the kids will be scared. Right now, they’re grouchy and hungry and disobedient. Whatever happens tonight, however bad it is, they’ll listen to him after. At least there’s that.

Minutes go by, and eventually Cerise returns with pitiful handfuls of withered carrots, a few wizened apples, the last of some snap peas and some soft tomatoes. She divides it into four pathetic piles. One is significantly smaller than the others. She pushes one of the larger towards Carlos. He shakes his head. “Feed the kids,” he mutters, not looking up from his scrubbing. “I’m…” he sighs. “I’m used to being hungry, okay? They’re not. Feed them, keep the quiet. Eat yourself.”

“Carlos, I’m not going to just-”

“Remember when you said you would listen to me? This is one of those times. There’s mint in the garden – you know what mint looks like? If you bring me some of that, it’ll make me feel like I’ve eaten.”

There’s a dark scowl on Cerise’s face. Clearly, she’s not happy, but for now, she bites her tongue. Thankfully, she seems to have inherited something of her other mother Ainsley’s more tempered nature. She redistributes Carlos’s portion into the other three, leaving herself with a pitifully small amount of food. It’s still much more than the few withered leaves she puts on the carpet for Carlos. He chews them carefully, feeling the sharp taste on his tongue dulled by dirt and lack of water. It feels more like a tease than tricking his stomach, but it’ll do.

As he chews, he returns to scrubbing. When the spot on the floor is gone, there’s another, or a dark stain on the wall, or a rug he can try to shampoo. Cerise does her best to keep up, but Carlos is frantic, and Cerise is flagging.

At eleven pm, Cruella returns.

The door bangs open, a sound like a gunshot, and Cerise jolts, surprised. She glances over to find Carlos bolt upright, every muscle tense, eyes huge in his pale face.

Cruella steps into the hall.

Cerise has to stifle a gasp. The woman is gaunt and tall, taller still in heels. The massive, ratty fur coat she’s wearing dwarfs her, making her elongated, fragile frame even skinnier. In one hand she carries a cane, dark wood topped with a white stone. In the other, she dangles a bottle, something sloshing inside. Her hair is bright white and sticks up in tufts above her head. Her green eyes are huge, lips blood red. Once, Cerise can tell, this woman was beautiful. Now, stumbling down the hall, she looks deranged.

“So, you decided to come crawling home!”

Carlos stands, drops the sponge he’s using, and slides himself neatly in front of Cerise, before she can really process what’s happening. “Yes, mother,” he answers, eyes on the floor.

Another stride, and she raises her cane, and brings it down hard across Carlos’s face. The blow knocks him fully to the floor, and it happens so fast it’s hard to even process how he got there. Cerise stumbles backwards, hands flying to her mouth. Her eyes are wide and round, and a sound escapes her mouth, some weak attempt at protest.

Upon hearing it, Carlos’s head whips around and he shakes his head hard. “No,” he mouths, and waves Cerise back. Feeling cowardly, Cerise obliges. She sinks down, wraps her arms around her knees, and presses back against a cupboard, making herself as small as possible. She’s smart enough to know when interfering will only make things worse.

Carlos’s lip is split, and he has a black eye forming already as he struggles to his feet. When he’s standing once more, Cruella looks him and down, lip curling. “Do you know how I’ve had to live?” she demands, and he shakes his head, eyes still on the ground. “Was it worth it, abandoning me? After all I’ve done for you?”

“No, Mother,” Carlos replies obediently, but it’s not enough. Now the cane catches him in the ribs, and he doesn’t fall, but he stumbles backwards. Cruella smiles a vicious smile. A blow to his collarbone sends him to his knees, and then she swings the thing like a baseball bat to his jaw, and he’s laid out across the floor once more. Through tears, Cerise watches as Cruella drives her high-heeled feet into her son’s chest and stomach, all the while raining blows on him from above. Cerise has to grit her teeth to keep from screaming.

“You will clean my house until it’s sparkling,” Cruella hisses, “and don’t think I don’t know about the kids – three of them, I know the others are hiding somewhere.” She looks up, meets Cerise’s eyes, and snarls. “You keep them out of my way – you don’t let them mess with my things – you don’t let it get in the way of your chores-”

“Yes, Mother, yes, mother, yes, I understand,” Carlos says it again and again, spitting out blood, holding up his hands to try to protect himself and always failing.

After that Cruella gets less coherent. Sometimes she spits complaints about how she’s struggled, how she’s suffered, without Carlos around to clean up after her. Mostly, she’s out of breath though, and Carlos is yelping, trying to soothe her, stumbling over his words as he rushes to come up with the right thing, the correct combination of words, something that will finally calm her down.

After a while, he goes quiet. His breathing is so ragged that few times Cerise thinks it’s stopped, and Cruella just keeps hitting him. She has both hands on the cane now, bringing it down over and over on his back, side, legs. In the beginning he recoiled from every blow, crunched his body together to try and protect his vulnerable middle, but now he lies loosely on the ground, as if he doesn’t even have the strength to defend himself.

Cruella doesn’t care. She just keeps hitting him. When she tires of that, she kicks him a few more times, and all he can do is groan in response. There’s blood leaking from his mouth onto the floor he spent so much time scrubbing.

Finally, finally, when Cerise is certain years have passed, and that Carlos is going to die, Cruella grunts. She takes a last swig from the bottle in her hand, raises it over her head, and throws it down hard at her son’s prone body. Perhaps she was hoping it would shatter, but the thick glass just bounces off his shoulder and rolls away down the hall. Cruella snorts and turns away, staggering back down away from them with the help of her cane. No more words, nothing, just stumbling into her bedroom, leaving her son in a heap on the carpet. For a long moment, Cerise stays frozen where she is.

Then she creeps forward, lays a hand on Carlos’s shoulder. His skin feels so cold. “P-Carlos?” her voice is quaking. “Carlos, are you…?”

She gets a shuddering groan in response. He twitches, eyes fluttering, and groans again. He tries to move, but a sound like a whimper escapes his lips. “Mm…sorry,” he rasps, eyes fluttering. “Jus’…give me a minute…”

“Okay,” Cerise says softly. Okay. She stands, moves swiftly to the kitchen to retrieve rags and bleach and a leftover bucket of water. When she gets back to where Carlos lies crumpled on the floor, she stops for a moment, unable to see his chest moving. The longest seconds of her life pass while she stares at him, petrified, and then his chest heaves in a quick, effortful pant. Arms weakening with relief, Cerise rushes over to him, takes his arm gently. She wants to sit him up against the wall. She has a vague idea that maybe, for some reason, that will help. When she tugs on his arm, he lets out a sharp, guttural sound of pain, and she stops, horrified.

“N-no,” he mumbles, still breathing shallowly. “N-no, I should, um, should s-s-sit up.” He’s slurring his words like a drunk.

Swallowing hard, Cerise drapes his arm over her shoulder and wraps her arm around him. She feels his muscles tense, as much as they can, in anticipation of the pain. Then, in one quick movement, she sits him up and scoots him across the floor to sit against the wall. Even his light body is hard to wrangle as deadweight.

He moans when she moves him, but then goes quiet. His breathing is still ragged, and his eyes are closed.

Carefully, Cerise starts to clean him up. Damp rags for Carlos, bleach for the carpet and the hardwood floors. After a few moments of her dabbing carefully at his skin with a damp rag, his hand comes up to take the bloody scrap from her. She lets him take care of himself while she focuses on the mess, which feels perverse, but after the hard lesson she’s just had in Cruella’s priorities, she thinks it’s probably the only way Carlos will let him help her right now.

By the time she’s gotten the blood off the floor, Carlos has cleaned all the blood he can off himself. “What…what else can I do for you?”

“Just…just give me a hand,” Carlos mutters, so Cerise helps him to his feet. When he’s standing, not even supporting all of his own weight, he lets out a big, gusty breath, a sigh steeped in pain. He takes a few seconds, swaying on his feet, before he gives Cerise the okay to start moving. Seemingly every time he moves, he lets out a moan, and Cerise is so afraid she’s hurting him as she tucks a hand under his armpits and helps him limp down the hall towards the closet. She knows she is hurting him. She also knows there’s no other way.

When they open the door, the other two are right there, and they stumble backwards guiltily, before getting a good look at Carlos. Eyes go wide, mouths drop open. Subtlety is not their family’s strong suit. “Lucia, help me,” orders Cerise, and her little sister pops up and drapes Carlos’s free arm over her shoulders. Together, they all but carry him to the very back of the long closet, Leonidas trailing along at their heels. In the back, they lay him down on the blankets, where he shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, “I…there’s not enough room…”

“So I’ll sleep on the floor,” Cerise tells him. “Rest, Carlos. Please.” It’s not like the heap of old coats and blankets is much better than the floor, but it’s _something._ It’s softer on his bruising, bloodied skin.

Wearily, Carlos nods. He’s too exhausted and beaten to argue. It’s hard to tell whether he falls asleep or passes out. He’s lost a fair amount of blood, and Cruella hit him in the head, hard, more than once. It’s making Cerise a little nervous, but she’s not sure what else to do. There’s no hospital here. There’s no police. She pulls a blanket up around Carlos’s shoulders.

“Leo,” she calls softly to the boy, who is wide-eyed and frightened. “Go to sleep, okay? It’s way past your bedtime.”

For once, the kid doesn’t argue. He crawls into the little space beside Carlos, wiggles beneath the blankets, and passes out pretty fast. He is little, after all.

Lucia sits on the edge of the heap of blankets. “Cerise?”

“Lie down,” Cerise tells her quietly, and when Lucia does, Cerise lies down next to her. “It’s bad,” she murmurs in Lucia’s ear, and for a moment she wants to say everything, spill out all the scared, bewildered thoughts that came to her as she saw Cruella rain down blows on her son. But this is her little sister. She needs to be brave. Cerise takes a deep breath. “She’s crazy. But Carlos is going to protect us, and it’s going to be okay. We will figure this out.”

“Carlos’s hurt pretty bad.”

“Yeah, I think he is.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes, I think he will be.”

There was a long period of quiet, where the two of them are just breathing. “Can…can we help him?”

“I don’t know, Lucia,” Cerise answers honestly. “I just don’t know. I do think we have to look out for Leo first. He’s only little.”

“And we need to look out for me next,” Lucia guesses sulkily.

“Yes, you next, because someone needs to look after Leo. I know you’re brave, I know you’re tough, but we also need to be smart, Luce.”

“So I’ll babysit and you’ll face Cruella.”

Cerise sighs. “You know what I did to face Cruella?” her voice is quiet, pained. “I sat against the wall and watched while she beat Carlos almost unconscious. I didn’t move or say a word the whole time. I just sat and watched. I might as well not have been there at all.”

“Carlos told us not to do anything.”

“He did. And I was also…too scared. Even if I could’ve done something to help…” Cerise swallows hard. “I don’t know if I would’ve.”

“I’m sure you would’ve,” Lucia says comfortingly.

“I don’t know, Luce. She was _so_ angry – so angry. And crazy, you could just tell. I just felt so scared, and so frozen. It…it was like nothing I’d ever seen before.”

The girls lie in the dark and think about that for a while.

“We’re going to be okay,” Cerise tells her sister quietly, reaching out to take her hand in the blackness of the closet.

“I know we are. Is he?”

“Yes,” Cerise says, but she sounds a lot less sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: serious physical abuse of Carlos by Cruella


	5. are you aware the shape i'm in?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all, wanted to give a heads up - this is an EXTREMELY HEAVY CHAPTER. i think all the triggers are already in the tags, but if i'm wrong please let me know in the comments, and i will fix that. i was putting triggers in the end notes before, but some people in the comments have alerted me that they definitely belong up here, and they're absolutely right so trigger warnings will be up top from now on.
> 
> trigger warnings: father/son incest, rape, physical abuse

Jay pretends he’s taking the Arendelle kids to Hans as a kindness, and not because he’s afraid to go home. When Hans was nowhere to be seen in the marketplace, nor even shitty little Mercury, Jay grabbed Chad’s wrist. “I’ll take you,” he offers, because the crowd of them are so visibly out of place in the bazaar. They’re sitting ducks here, and Lizette is only eight.

Hans’ place is out beyond the main town, but before Jay even thinks about that, he needs to get these clean, pretty kids out of the bazaar without any of them being grabbed or robbed. First things first, he grabs Lizette. “You stay with me,” he tells her firmly, and she nods, eyes huge and frightened. Next he turns to Chad. “You’re going to lead,” he informs the eldest, and when Chad balks, Jay nods to confirm his decision. “Just walk straight up that street, and when we’re away from all these people, I’ll lead the way, but I want to be able to see all of you in front of me. Look straight ahead, don’t pay attention to anyone yelling at you, and if someone does make eye contact, glare.”

Swallowing hard, Chad nods. At least for now, he’s gone quiet and, hopefully, obedient. There’s no sign of the snarky tourney captain that Jay is used to. Satisfied, Jay moves to Lilac and Briar. “Behind Chad, same thing,” he instructs. “No eye contact, eyes straight ahead, glare if someone touches you or makes eye contact.” The older girls agree resolutely, and then the little boys do too, Caspian and Finn, though they look scared as they do. “Okay, now walk like you know where you’re going,” Jay orders, and Chad leads them away, shouldering through the crowd as if he’s lived there all his life. Never has Jay been more grateful for the broad shoulders that earned Chad captain his sophomore year.

Eyes following them as they go, Jay notes the way they cut through the crowd. More so than Chad’s pushing, it’s the fact they don’t belong. The Islanders all look somehow darker by comparison – it’s probably the dirt, and the clouds that tend to hang over the Isle. Still, watching them brush by the clean-cut, blonde Auradonians, Jay feels small.

Chad is easily 6’3, and he moves like he somehow belongs here. He sets his eyes in the distance, makes eye contact with no one, and strides through the crowd unscathed. He’s been well-fed his whole life, which is a rarity on the island, and he’s played tourney, and seen doctors whenever he was hurt, so it makes sense that he’s bigger than most, stronger, and that they move aside for him. Still, Jay can’t help remembering how he had to fight and scrape and constantly defend the easy consideration Chad gets automatically.

Behind him, heads are turning to look at Lilac and Briar, Lilac with her mother’s straight red hair, Briar with her father’s curly blonde. Again, they’re clean, well-fed, and walk with easy grace, because they don’t know to be afraid. The little boys, faces clear of suspicion, and little Lizette, with her shining blue eyes…

How bad a person is Jay for resenting them? He should be happy that he’s not fending off attackers left and right. He knows Puck won’t have it so easy. The Scots, with their fiery hair and fiercer ways, are going to be easy and _reactive_ targets, and Puck on his own doesn’t have the authority to scare most people away without a confrontation.

But watching the six cut effortlessly through the Island crowd, Jay finds himself wanting them to struggle. It just doesn’t feel fair that they lived out easy lives in Auradon and even on the Island, manage to bend the others to their will. It’s not right that they should be able to tame, or even temporarily stun, the beasts he knows lurk within the ranks of the market crowd.

It makes Jay wonder if maybe it’s him that’s weak.

There’s no time for his identity crisis – the group is through the crush of the market, and now Jay takes the lead once more. Chad walks beside him; they all want to walk beside him. They have questions.

“How is Hans? We’ve heard…well, we haven’t heard anything good.” That’s Chad, sounding uneasy. Being thrown into a completely new situation seems to have knocked him out of his own head, and Jay savors the sound of Chad’s voice without the condescension that usually accompanies it.

“What you’ve heard is likely still true.” Jay keeps his voice level and his head steady. “He’s not dangerous but he certainly won’t be kind. And he has a son, Mercury. Little brat. You’ll want to keep the kids away from him.”

“Are other people dangerous here? He’s not, but do you mean-” It’s Briar, and Jay cuts her off before she can finish.

“Yes, that’s rare. Most people here are dangerous. They won’t always hurt you, but they’ll rob you when they can. Be careful. Stay together. Don’t let the kids out on their own.”

“W-who do we go to if something happens?” Chad again.

“Us. Me, Mal, Puck, or the twins.”

“There are no…I mean, aren’t there _adults_ that can help?” Lilac’s voice is incredulous.

“None of them will care,” Jay answers her briskly, ignoring the stir that causes. They’ll have to learn sometime, and they may as well learn fast.

“What…” Chad takes a moment to think about it. “What do we need to know? To, to make it through however long we’re here – what’s going to help us?”

He’s trying to think like the leader he is, the athlete. He’s trying to strategize. It’s actually a good question, so Jay takes a moment to think about it. “Be smart,” he answers honestly. “Don’t trust anyone. Stick together. If you need anything, find me or Mal or Puck or the twins. Hans probably won’t feed you, so you’ll need to get to the barges first, or steal from someone who did.”

“The barges?” Briar sounds confused.

“The garbage barges, from Auradon. You better hope that Vlasta’s still sending them, because that’s the only food we get.”

“What?” Lilac stops dead in the road, and the rest of her family stops with her. Reluctantly, Jay pauses too. “What are you talking about? We send…we send donations, and, and I’m sure there’s a food allotment-”

“There’s not,” Jay cuts her off. “We were supposed to fend for ourselves, but nothing much grows out here. We don’t have the technology or infrastructure, or maybe the desire, to make our fuckin…farms. Food comes in on the barges. Whatever you people don’t want, that’s what we go through. And you’ll have to eat it too, or you’ll starve.” The herd of them is staring at him. Jay sighs. “Come on. Let’s keep walking.” They obey, still seeming a little shell-shocked. For a long moment, no one says anything, and Jay savors the silence.

“We’re supposed to live on _garbage?”_ Caspian asks, his young voice disgusted.

“I lived on it for eighteen years,” Jay reminds him, and the kid’s face goes flaming red. Jay doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so angry, but it does feel good to take it out, just a little bit, on the wide-eyed, clueless, golden children around him. “Anyway – stick with Hans if you can. People respect him. If you’re under his protection, you’ll be safe from a lot of crap.”

“Can we really count on him to protect us?” A practical question from Chad, that again betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of Island politics.

“If you live with him, you’re under his protection. That’s how this works. If someone can’t even protect the people under their roof, they aren’t worthy of respect. The Island operates in gangs, essentially, and power comes from the ability to look out for your gang.”

“So…so we should think of ourselves as a gang?” Chad asks, trying to keep his voice from sounding incredulous.

“Yeah, why not?”

“We’re in your gang, aren’t we?” That’s Lilac, sharp as ever. “Or, maybe it’s Mal’s. But you guys are protecting us.”

Not particularly liking the question, Jay rubs his jaw. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?”

Still Lilac, still sharp.

Jay shrugs. “Don’t want to see any of you get hurt.”

“Thank you,” Chad says, and his voice, his smile, are so loaded with Auradon authenticity that Jay has to look away. He’s so clean, so sure, so strong and whole and hearty. Jay can’t take it. He can’t stand it.

“You’ll be stretching yourselves pretty thin, won’t you?” Lilac persists, and though the questions are hard to answer, Jay finds himself appreciating that she’s thinking to ask them. A little more tactical than her good big brother, it would seem.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, there’s five of you. You were a gang before you came to Auradon, I assume?”

“You’d be correct.”

“Well, you’re tacking on us, the Charmings, Merida’s three, Isolde, and the crown prince and princess,” Lilac lists. “Five protectors, for fourteen of us that are essentially dead weight. And I assume you also have to protect each other.”

It’s a question that’s been weighing heavy on Jay’s mind, but in the face of this group, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“We can get our hands dirty, too,” Lilac informs him, tipping her chin up, and Jay finds himself grinning at her. It’s an Island grin, so almost a dare, shot sideways at someone, full of the promise of mischief.

“So we might make a villain of you yet,” he cracks, and Lilac laughs.

Chad looks uncomfortable. “Well, what Lila means is that we’ll help however we can,” he corrects, nose wrinkling. “We won’t be _villains._ ”

For a moment, Jay almost lets it go. But he finds he can’t – that boiling anger rises up in him. “Will you steal?” he quizzes calmly.

“I mean, no-”

“Would you hit someone, if they started a fight with you?”

“No-”

“What if someone came after the little boys? Lizette?”

“No one would do that!”

“I’m telling you, they could. So what would you do if that happened?”

Bewildered, Chad sputters. Briar pipes up instead. “Make them stop.”

“How?”

“However…however I needed to,” she answers, ducking her head. She’s shyer than her sister, but they’re both catching on. Caspian puffs out his chest.

“Me too!” he adds importantly, and despite himself, Jay smiles.

“Hey-hey-hold on, now,” Chad argues, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I…I don’t think this is a productive conversation to be having.”

Jay shrugs. “Look, dude, you need to be prepared for what might come. You need to at least think about it. Because if a bad moment does come up, and you have no idea what to do, someone could get hurt before you make your decision.”

“I just don’t think…” Chad trails off, then finds his voice. “I don’t think those are decisions that I would make. And I don’t want any of you making them, either.” He casts a stern look around at his siblings.

Irritation flares up in Jay. “How do you expect them to protect themselves?” he asks pointedly. “Far less each other?”

“Jay…” Chad shakes his head. “I’m not…we’re not…like you.”

He takes a breath to continue but Jay cuts him off. “I see.” His voice is flat, dead. There is no intonation, anywhere. Widened eyes show Chad knows that he’s screwed up.

“Now, I don’t mean-”

“I think I know what you mean, Prince Chad,” Jay interrupts, and his voice is quiet, no hint of snark. It shuts Chad up, makes him gulp. “Hans’ place is up there, on the left. Red house, gold door. Not more than a block farther. Remember to stick together and try not to make eye contact with anyone. Be smart. And if you need anything, me, Mal, Puck, the twins.” He turns to leave, and Chad grabs his elbow, looking unsure of himself. That in itself is such a surprise that Jay stops to listen.

“Jay, wait, really, I didn’t mean-” he tries one more time.

Jay tips his head. “Don’t lie to me,” he says softly, and Chad’s hand drops. “You meant it, every word. I’ll be seeing you. Good luck.”

With that he’s gone, disappearing down an alleyway that he knows leads, in a roundabout way, back towards the bazaar, and Jafar. Along the way he shatters a few bottles, slams a crate against a wall hard enough to crack the wood, but none of it touches the hollow anger that has grown roots inside him.

_We’re not like you._

No, they aren’t. They’re clean, they’re pure, they’re good. They grew up on fresh fruit and scrambled eggs, parents who kissed their foreheads when they were sick. They don’t want to stoop to Jay’s level, to rob and fight and threaten. His hard-won ability to swagger fearlessly through the marketplace, well, Chad can do that, no problem. His easy confidence comes the safe way, the _good_ way. He doesn’t steal or cheat or hurt people.

_We’re not like you._

Oh, no, they’re not like him, they’re not like Mal or Evie, Lydia or Puck. Jay’s dirty, and everyone he loves is dirty too. The way their eyes would widen if they saw the scars Cruella left on Carlos. The way they’d gasp if they saw the potions that Evie and Lyd brew up. Oh, and if Mal went into one of her famous rages, every move choreographed to protect those she loves, they’d write her off as nothing but a little villain, just like her mother.

_We’re not like you._

It makes Jay want to rage. It makes him want to scream and fight and break something. That’s the villain in him, too. Nothing he can get away from. No reason to be this angry when the fact is that Chad is right.

Still stewing, still brooding, still furious, Jay arrives at Jafar’s front door. It’s dangerous to walk in in this mood, it’s asking for pain. Jay does it anyway. Part of him thinks he might be looking for a little pain.

“Back so soon, my son?”

He’s barely walked through the door and Jafar is already on him, long fingers catching Jay by the throat. He shoves his father off with a snarl, almost satisfied with the way the man’s eyes narrow. “Leave me alone.”

“You haven’t been gone long enough that you forget how to treat me,” Jafar intones, and his hand lands on Jay’s bicep now, holding tight. Jay attempts to shake him off, but Jafar’s grip is like a vice. His father leans in, and Jay meets his eyes in a direct challenge. Jafar’s dark eyes flash. “Or maybe you have. Maybe Auradon has filled you with some idea of superiority.”

“It’s not an idea,” Jay shoots back, and he’s not playing with fire anymore, he’s playing with pure dynamite. “Let me go.”

“I don’t think I will,” snarls Jafar. He hauls Jay forward by one arm, dragging him over the low table off to the side of the door. Quick as a snake, he has a handcuff around one wrist, and though he struggles mightily, Jay can’t keep his father from locking the other wrist in, too. He’s too distracted, fighting with emotion instead of his brain. Against Jafar with a pair of handcuffs, Jay doesn’t stand a chance.

The chain that links the cuffs is looped around a hook Jafar keeps in the wall for this very reason. He locks it in carefully, leaving Jay stretched out across the table, his feet just barely touching the ground. Acutely aware of how vulnerable he is, Jay lies there, chest heaving, and waits.

“What a mood you’re in, my son,” Jafar muses sardonically. “I do think you missed me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Why else would you provoke me so, if you weren’t desperate for…” Jafar’s voice drips condescension, “… _attention?”_

Despite himself, Jay shudders, and regret starts to pool in his stomach. He shouldn’t have provoked Jafar the way he did. After being gone for months, Jafar would have been plenty angry all on his own.

Jafar makes short work of Jay’s shirt, using a blade that feels like cold fire where it touches the skin of Jay’s spine. When his back is bare, Jafar runs long, sharp fingernails down it. Jay hisses at the pain. “You like that, boy? You like that I’m marking you? Is that what you missed, people knowing you’re mine?”

“Go to hell,” Jay spits.

“Stupid boy.”

The belt comes down across Jay’s back in a wave of heat, that itches and spreads across his skin. Before long, his entire back is aching, stinging, glowing with heat, and he’s cursing after every blow, but not crying yet.

That’s all right. Jafar is just getting started. Next, he pulls Jay’s jeans to his ankles, and then his underwear.

“Fucking…pervert,” Jay gasps out, panting from the pain. “You know in Auradon…they don’t fuck their _kids._ ”

Once more, Jafar rakes his fingernails down Jay’s back, but this time it makes his son howl, the skin sensitive from the belt. Jafar admires the bright red, furrowed tracks his nails leave behind, the angry red trails that race down Jay’s spine. “You know in Auradon,” Jafar replies conversationally, “the kids don’t _ask for it.”_

With that, he moves the belt down to Jay’s ass, and this time he is relentless. He doesn’t stop hitting Jay until tears drip down his son’s face, until his ass is burning crimson and each new strike from the belt leaves a bright white impression against the red field.

“Does that hurt?” he asks mockingly, pressing his nails into one cheek.

Jay whines. “Yes, fuck, it hurts.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes, please, stop.”

“Beg.”

He steps around Jay’s legs so he can see his son’s face. Jay is glaring at him through teary brown eyes, and Jafar smirks to see it. “Go on,” he prompts his son, digging his nails a little harder into the globe of his ass. “Beg for it.”

“P-please stop,” Jay spits the words out. “P-please, it hurts.”

“Please stop what?”

“Stop hitting me.”

Jafar’s nails disappear from Jay’s ass, and the young man breathes a sigh of relief. Then a line of white-hot fire burns its way across his backside, right where his thighs meet his butt, and he screams with the pain, with the shock, the sudden horrible surprise.

Jafar waits until the sobs have subsided, and then he speaks again. “You know how to play this game, so don’t pretend you don’t know what I want to hear,” he informs his son, and his voice is full of arch displeasure. Jay is sniffling, almost choking on sobs. “I am more than ready to belt you until you bleed. It is up to you.”

“D-daddy,” Jay whispers, finally breaking. His voice is small and scared. “Daddy, please stop, it hurts.”

“Aw, does it hurt?”

“It hurts, Daddy, please stop, I promise I’ll be good.”

“Oh, you’ll be _good?”_ Jafar snickers, and the tears burning Jay’s eyes are now ones of shame.

“I’ll, I’ll do what you say.”

“Of course you will, you’re Daddy’s little slut. You won’t be _good_ though, oh no.”

“I know.”

“You’re filthy, Jay. You’re disgusting. You’re a grown man, stretched across a table, crying because you got a spanking from your Daddy.”

Jay presses his face into the table, but still nods reluctantly. “Yeah. I am.”

“You’re nothing, Jay. You’re never gonna be anything. You’re trash, okay? You understand?”

“I’m trash,” Jay repeats. “I’m nothing.”

“You’re mine, and you’re always going to be mine. Yes?”

“Yes, Daddy,” chants Jay dutifully, marveling at how pathetic he continues to be. “I’m, I’m yours. Always will be.”

There’s a lump in his throat that refuses to go away. Jafar steps up between Jay’s legs, shoving them apart so far that Jay blushes and whimpers into the wood. With no preparation, nothing at all, he shoves himself into his son, and Jay nearly bites his tongue in two. The stretch, the burn, the almost tearing pain, brings fresh tears to Jay’s eyes.

“You know…” Jafar sets a punishing rhythm, slamming his son back and forth, scraping his stomach raw against the table beneath him, scraping his insides raw within him. “I visited…Mangiafuoco’s…a few times…while you were gone.”

Jay stays quiet, tries to breathe, and waits for the punchline. “Just about…every whore…the old man has…is prettier than you,” Jafar hisses in his ear, and Jay fails once more to swallow the lump in his throat. “But I have always preferred…the things I could take…for _free.”_

He’s snickering above Jay, and Jay turns his face against the table, not caring how it scrapes, just wanting to hide his humiliation a little better. As if sensing his shame, Jafar knots a hand in Jay’s long hair and hauls his head up.

Then, of course, still inside his son, Jafar reaches down between Jay’s legs, and feels his cock, half-hard from all the accidental brushes to his prostate. “See, you are a slut,” he reminds his boy, stroking him efficiently to full hardness. “You love this, don’t you? Don’t you?”

When Jay is moaning, gasping, still crying but only seconds away from coming, Jafar removes his hand and jerks out of Jay, leaving him gaping and empty and desperately frustrated. A parting smack to his backside, as hard as he can make it, leaves his son howling.

“Good night, boy,” Jafar calls mockingly over his shoulder. “It is so good to have you back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so extremely heavy chapter. exploring different sides of what abuse looks like on the island, particularly when jafar is so obsessed with control/ownership. plus after the whole jasmine-in-chains thing from the original movie, we all know he's a huge creep.   
> as always, please let me know what you think! comments and kudos mean the world to me.


	6. yes there will be singing, about the dark times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No triggers for this chapter that I can think of, but if there are any I missed please let me know in the comments! Also this is a loooong chapter, but hopefully worth it! There's some important stuff in there :)

When Mal moves, the crowd parts before her. She has Ben and Cassia behind her, and the Charmings, because someone needs to take them to the Tremaine household, and each of the others already has enough to deal with. She doesn’t grab anyone’s hands – she understands why Carlos is having them all hold onto each other, but it still doesn’t look good. No wonder he’s getting hassled before he’s made it ten feet.

It’s also, well, Carlos. The smallest and youngest of them. The Islanders will test him first, and then the twins. She and Jay will have to be on high alert. If the Islanders think they can mess with Carlos, Evie, and Lyd, or any of their charges, that’s a direct challenge to the whole group. Never mind the fact that Mal will defy the barrier and die before she lets someone hurt her family.

The thoughts are putting her in a bad mood, and the scowl on her face sends the market crowd fleeing before her. She and her charges walk through clear open space, no one even thinking about standing in her way – until a thin blonde girl does.

“M-Mal?”

Cressida’s voice is small, unsure. She’s only ten, just a kid, and a small, malnourished one at that. Not wanting to stop short in front of all these eyes, Mal nods curtly. “Follow me,” she orders, and leads her little pack out of the bazaar. When there aren’t so many eyes on them, she ducks into an alleyway, waving her pack of six in with her.

When she has them all in front of her, she examines them once more. Leander, Stellan, and Marigold will be going with Cressida, and what a lopsided group _that_ is. The boys are sixteen and fifteen, if she remembers correctly, and they’re tall, healthy, strong. Marigold and Cressida are both ten, but god, what a difference. Marigold must be at least three inches taller than Cressida, and twenty pounds heavier. She’s still got some baby fat, so that’s part of it, but more so than that, Cressida is rail thin. Her blue eyes are huge in her sallow face, her blonde hair stringy.

If Mal remembers correctly, Cressida has an intermittently unstable home situation. The Tremaines can’t seem to decide if they want a slave or to protect the last of their bloodline. Sometimes they coddle her, sometimes they work her like a dog. Privately, Mal thinks it would probably be better for the kid if they just treated her as a slave. As is, she’s one of the most nervous, uncertain Island kids Mal has ever encountered. Cressy is always on edge, always ready for someone to turn on her, for something to change on a dime. Even now, in the alleyway, Mal can see her assessing escape routes, sizing up the competition.

If it came to a fight, Cressida would never make it out.

Coming to the same realization, Cressy presses back against the alley wall, making herself small. Mal sighs.

All these calculations go down in seconds, and Mal can tell the Auradonians are still reeling. They’re not used to snap decision, assessing a situation like the Islanders are. With another, deeper sigh, she decides to catch them up.

“Charmings, this is Cressida. Cressy, this is Leander, Stellan, and Marigold. They’re staying with you.”

“I know,” Cressida answers readily, her voice high and tiny. “I came to the marketplace to, to get them but you were already leaving.”

“If you’d tried to lead them out of the market, you would never have made it untouched,” Mal informs the younger girl dispassionately.

Meekly, the same way she does everything, Cressida nods. “Thank you.”

“Um, hi,” Leander glances from Mal to Cressida, clearly worried he’s interrupting. He clears his throat. “Hi, I’m Leander.” He sticks out a hand and Cressida stares at him for a second before shaking it, clearly unnerved.

“Nice to meet you,” she murmurs, eyes darting over at Mal as if she’s looking for approval. Automatically scowling in response, Mal takes a second to breathe and then smooths out her face and nods to Cressy, approving. She’s not used to being a safe option for anyone except her people, and she can’t say she likes it much.

“I’m Stellan,” the younger brother offers next, and once more goes for a handshake. This time the corners of Cressy’s lips quirk up in a smile. She feels safe enough now to think that the Charmings are acting weird and show that judgment.

“I’m Marigold,” Marigold pipes in over her brother’s shoulder, not bothering with a handshake. “I’m ten. How old are you?”

“I’m also ten!”

“No way!” Marigold sounds fascinated. “You’re tiny!”

“Marigold!” Leander nudges her, sounding horrified with her rudeness. Cressy just giggles, and the sound soothes Mal. This is going to work, she thinks, marveling. This pairing, she really thinks it’s going to work.

“It’s okay,” Cressida tells Leander cheerfully. “I am tiny. Anyway, you guys are staying with me and my moms and my grandma.”

“You have two moms?” asks Marigold, pure curiosity. Another elbow in her side from Stellan doesn’t stop her.

“One of my moms is really my aunt, but they’re both my moms,” shrugs Cressida. “They’re really excited you guys are coming, because you’re real royalty.”

Another good sign. “Remember you’re going to have to feed them,” Mal reminds Cressy sternly. “And don’t let anyone else mess with them.”

“I know,” Cressida says, eyes wide and serious. “May…um, may we go now?”

Mal snorts. “Yeah. Go on, kid.”

Leander catches Mal’s arm, as his siblings follow Cressida out of the alleyway. “ _She’s_ supposed to protect us?”

“No. If you need help, you get me, Puck, Jett, or one of the twins. Or tell Cressy to get one of us. But she’ll…she’ll be good. She’ll do her best.”

“Okay,” Leander agrees, looking distinctly uneasy. “Um. Okay.”

“Better catch up,” remarks Mal drily. “They’re getting away from you.”

So Leander trots out of the alleyway, and Mal is left with Ben and Cassia. They’re both sizing her up warily, and now that the other four are gone, Mal turns her attention to them.

Of course, she’s already well familiar with Crown Prince Ben and Crown Princess Cassia. It’s all but impossible not to be. Among the star-studded families of Auradon, theirs shines the brightest. Being a true Island kid, it was only natural for Mal to familiarize herself with the most powerful people in her new environment, and that was certainly these two. And then, well…Mal swallows. She may have gone a bit above and beyond, in terms of familiarizing herself with Ben…

Crown Princess Cassia had her mother’s long brown hair, glasses, and preference for books over people. Despite her introversion, she was genuinely popular in school, not because of her family, but because she had an entertaining, dry sense of humor, and she was genuinely kind. She wasn’t close with many, but she was friendly with everyone, and well-liked for it.

Then there was Crown Prince Ben. Mal had to fight to keep from wincing. That was an awkward situation. When the Island kids had been attempting to steal Fairy Godmother’s wand, it had resulted in a brief, intense relationship between Mal and Ben, initially triggered by a love potion, but then proving to be surprisingly real.

And surprisingly short. As intense as her feelings were, Mal couldn’t…she couldn’t _be_ with Ben in the way that she was used to being with people she felt drawn to. He was so tentative, so stiff and formal. Mal was always holding something back – whether it was the desire to touch, or roughhouse, or grab him after class, or just the most basic facts about her life that there was no easy way to share. Even worse, while they were dating, Mal had to stay away from the other Islanders, at least in public. Their closeness hadn’t gone unremarked, and Auradon sure had some Puritan ideas about fidelity.

Through it all, Ben was supportive, earnest, sweet, _himself._ He wanted so badly to understand her, and somehow that made it worse. Every conversation somehow seemed to grow the distance between them.

After a few weeks, the pair had called it quits, and it was an amicable breakup, but things between them had since gotten so excruciatingly awkward that sometimes Mal found it hard to look at Ben. The problem was one of experience. Mal found it hard to take their intellectual, emotional, unconsummated relationship seriously, and at the same time, she knew that it had meant quite a lot to Ben.

Not only that, but he’d ditched his assumed betrothed for Mal, and even after they broke up, hadn’t taken up with Audrey again. From what she’d learned of Audrey and Ben, the breakup was for the best, but it was still uncomfortable that she’d caused the end of one of his closest friendships. Audrey had taken things hard, and Mal was pretty sure that the two of them were barely on speaking terms, even months later. And look how Audrey was treating the rest of the Island kids. Clearly, she wasn’t over it.

Forcing herself to make eye contact, Mal is surprised to see anxiousness instead of awkwardness on his face, for the first time in months. Looking at him, she realizes she’s been an idiot. He’s scared. He’s thinking about way more than their brief, failed fling. He’s been separated from his parents, imprisoned, and thrown with his little sister into a new environment populated by people that have posed direct dangers to his loved ones and friends. His brown eyes are big and nervous, and he’s looking at Mal like a lifeline. Instinctually, she wants to bristle, tell this weakling to back off. Any boy, man, really, who is as old and tall and strong as Ben, yet can’t look out for himself, is not someone that she wants to be saddled with. The presumption, of assuming he can claim protection from the most powerful teen on the Island, when he’s offering nothing in return…

It’s interesting, the way she can pay attention to the way that her own mind works, now that she’s back on the Island. She’s slipped right into old patterns, evaluating, weighing risks and benefits, and holding everyone around her to an Island standard.

Of course, she brushes off that course of thought and action as soon as it has run its course. Still, her musings have taken a little longer than usual, and when she refocuses, she finds Ben clearing his throat.

“So, um, what…what now?”

Mal nods. “Sorry. Just thinking. Now, we go to Maleficent’s castle. If you have questions, better ask them now. I don’t know what mood she’ll be in when we get there.”

“What does that mean?” Cassia asks it baldly, then blushes. “That’s um, that’s my question. What do you mean about Maleficent’s mood?”

Lips twisting, Mal wonders how she can possibly explain this to the Auradon kids without them seeing it in person. “She’s just…scary when she’s mad,” Mal settles on, not pleased with what a poor description it is, but unable to describe what it feels like to have the force of Maleficent’s cold rage upon her. “And uh…the last time I saw her…” They were all three there. They’d seen the way that Mal had faced down her mother and somehow had won. At the time it had been a triumph; now it seemed like the height of stupidity.

“Isn’t…” Cassia’s face crinkles as she remembers it. “Wasn’t she turned into a, uh…lizard?”

“The barrier will have changed her back.” Mal sighs, wishing it hadn’t. “No magic here, which means transformations don’t stick. She, ah, she won’t be happy about that little incident.” Cassia gulps. “Don’t worry, though, you’ll…” Mal shakes her head. “It’ll be fine.”

“Because you’ll make it fine?”

That’s Ben. He has so much faith in her, is so good he can’t believe that everyone around him isn’t good too. It was his decree that pulled them off the Island, and Mal feels a surge of warmth for him, naïve though he is. He believes the best of her, of all the Islanders, really. And as future king…Ben has the charisma and the strength and the title. If she could just get the Island kids to listen to him, he could really make some changes.

But she’s getting ahead of herself. “Yes,” she answers honestly. “Jett, Puck, and the twins and I agreed. We’ll look out for you Auradonians until Vlasta’s overthrown.”

“Thank you,” Ben says, and Cassia echoes. Mal rolls her eyes.

“C’mon. We don’t have a lot of time. You must have more questions.”

“What…what is life going to be like, here?” Cassia wrinkles her nose at her own question. “Sorry, that’s vague.”

Mal shrugs. “It’s broad, but it’s fair. Let’s see. It’s May, so no one will be in school.”

“Your school gets out in May?”

“I said no one would be there, I didn’t say it let out then,” Mal replies wryly. “There aren’t exactly truant officers here. And the teachers aren’t in it for anything more than the pension from Auradon. If parents care about their kids’ education, they’ll homeschool.”

“Really?” Ben sounds distressed. “It’s that bad?”

“Yep.” Mal doesn’t have time to reassure him, nor does she really want to. She’s almost looking forward to the shock to the system these kids are going to get. Maybe if they’re startled enough, they’ll go back and convince their parents to actually make some changes. “First rule of being here is don’t trust anyone. I know it sounds harsh. I know you’re not used to it. But even kids will pick your pockets if given the chance. If you have a question about someone, ask me or one of the others first, before you decide to trust them.”

“It’s that bad?” Ben repeats, wide-eyed.

“The kids here aren’t bad,” Mal rounds on him, and she’s not angry, nor yelling but her voice is deadly serious, and she’s stopped facing him. She has to look up to meet his eyes, but she knows he’s the one that feels smaller here. “They aren’t. They’ve just been taught shitty ways to live, and that’s not always their fault.”

“Of course,” agrees Ben, humbled. “I didn’t mean-”

“Well, some of them also suck,” Mal allows, cutting him off. “Genuinely. But just because they act shitty doesn’t mean they are. And _sometimes…_ ” she considers it for a moment. “Sometimes there are kids who aren’t shitty and don’t act it. But you have to ask because a lot of people here are really good liars.”

“Okay-” Ben starts, but Cassia’s cutting him off.

“Cressida, is she good?”

Mal laughs. “Oh, yeah, Cressy’s fine. Scared of her own shadow, but a sweet kid. Honestly, having Leander and Stellan around might be better for her than having her around is for them. She gets pushed around a lot.”

“Poor kid,” Ben murmurs, and Mal shrugs, uncomfortable. Thankfully, Ben moves on. “So what…what are we going to do all day?”

“Well, we’ll have to find food,” Mal lists, but before she can keep going, Ben interrupts.

“What do you mean, find food?” he asks. “Do you mean…like, grocery shopping, or…?”

Huffing, Mal rolls her eyes. “I forgot how much they lie to you over there. No, I mean _find food._ The garbage barges come once a week, so we’ll get everything we can there. After that, Evie and Lyd usually go through the forest for us, but I think maybe we’ll need a few others if we’re trying to feed so many. Jay might have to steal to supplement…”

“What do you mean, garbage barges?” Ben demands.

“There’s no infrastructure out here, no equipment, and no space. Not much motivation either. Translation? The Isle doesn’t produce any of its own food. And we don’t get anything from Auradon except the chance to pick through your garbage before it gets reprocessed.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cassia breathes.

“Nope. Why do you think everyone on the Island is so malnourished?” Mal resists the urge to smirk at their shocked, distressed expressions. Time for a lesson in the real world, she thinks. Ben is spluttering.

“How…how is there enough food for everyone on the garbage barges?” he demands.

“There isn’t,” Mal replies simply. “Most everyone is hungry all the time. Probably why almost everyone is so bad tempered. And there’s never anything fresh. People grow small gardens where they can, but there’s always the risk someone steals it, so gardens stay small, and people can’t live on them. You can fish, but only in the bay, because the barrier won’t let you cast a line anywhere but there, and in the bay there’s the chance someone bigger comes along and takes your catch. There’s not a lot of wildlife here, because people have been killing and eating it so long…” Mal takes a breath. “But, uh, because of the barges…” she shrugs. “There’s always rats.”

“People eat _rats?!”_

Cassia’s disgusted tone pisses Mal off. “It’s food,” she defends, glaring this time. “And it’s not like we have another option. Try to reserve your judgment, princess.”

Stung, Cassia draws back, and Ben puts a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder. “She didn’t mean it.”

“Whatever,” Mal waves it away tiredly. “Look, if you don’t want to be ravenously hungry, you’ll have to eat what we find for you.”

“We will,” Ben assures her, face solemn.

“Good. Finding food is honestly mostly what we do around here.” Mal hesitates. She’s not sure she wants to share everything. “There’s also…a place that we were working on for a couple years. Ah…Carlos’s treehouse.”

“You said that’s where we’re meeting tomorrow?”

“Yes. We’ve been building it for awhile. Will probably need to add some things to accommodate…all of you. Besides that, Evie and Lydia do some potion making, and Carlos builds machines. We all have tasks from our parents to think about as well.”

“What…what do you do for fun?”

Cassia’s finally speaking again, and she’s a lot quieter after being snapped at. Mal shrugs. “We go exploring sometimes. Lyd and I like to read but the others find that boring. We have some…” Mal struggles to say friends, “…associates we see sometimes. Help them with things. Mostly…” she trails off, really not wanting to share this part.

“Mostly what?”

Count on Ben to not let it go.

She’s not going to share that they spend a fair amount of their free time fucking, because she knows how Auradonians will react to that. She settles for the slightly better option, but she knows it won’t sound good. “Honestly? Just, kind of…messing around. Setting things on fire. Breaking things, sometimes. Bothering people we think deserve it.”

“That’s…”

Mal can’t stand to hear Ben’s judgment on the things that brought her some small joy, some small satisfaction, for her childhood, her adolescence, most of her life. “I know, it’s, it’s bad.” She huffs. “And destructive. I know that we shouldn’t. We won’t anymore, we just…” she shrugs, hating this excuse. “We didn’t exactly know better.”

“I was going to say it’s understandable.” Caught off guard, Mal looks over at him, mouth open. Ben’s face is drawn with frustration. “You had every reason to be annoyed, even angry. Everyone here does. These conditions are unlivable.”

Waving his concern away, Mal treats it lightly, though his words have touched her deeply. “We make it work. And we’ll make it work for you too, it just won’t be comfortable.”

“We can handle it,” Cassia says eagerly, and Mal nods.

“Sounds good.” They’re almost in the shadow of the castle now, so she speeds up a bit. Suddenly, a million things that she’s forgotten are running through her brain. “Keep quiet when Maleficent is around but answer her if she asks you any questions. She may not have her magic, but Maleficent is the most powerful thing on this island, and if she gets angry, she has hordes of people who will do her bidding.”

Now they’ve arrived at the door. Mal sighs. “Take a deep breath,” she tells the Auradonians. “It’ll be okay.”

As the door creaks open, she tries to believe that herself.

The castle is huge and dark and empty. It’s clean, at least, because Maleficent has people that do that, but out here in the antechamber before the throne room, things have fallen into disrepair as much as the Dark Fairy will allow. There’s no glass in the huge arched windows, and it’s been years since a fire burned in the gigantic hearth set into the wall. The carpet had been hauled away after one too many bloodstains, and so the entire room is spare of any decoration.

There’s a lone man standing guard outside the huge double doors that lead to the throne room. He’s cleaning under his fingernails with a switchblade, watching them approach at the same time. “She’s been expecting you. Go in.”

A curt nod is all Mal will give him in response. When he doesn’t move from his post, she crosses her arms and glares. Grumbling, he pushes himself off the wall and hauls open one gigantic door to allow them through.

The throne room is as long as a tourney field and made entirely from black stone harvested from under the lone mountain that sits on the Island. Mal has heard whispers that it took ten years to build the castle, and four of those were spent on the throne room alone. She believes it. Especially now, looking at it for the first time in months, she’s made small by its grandeur. Arched windows twenty feet high frame flawless, clean, clear glass, the kind that’s priceless on the Island. Fourteen tall, black Doric columns, each three feet in diameter, line the blood-red carpet that leads down the room. At the end of that carpet is an obsidian platform, and on top of that platform sits the throne, itself a monstrosity of black stone and steel. It looks like thorns, or swords, or screaming mouths, depending on the light cast by the flickering torches, which are too few and far between.

Maleficent does like it dark.

She likes it cold, too, and Mal’s human half makes her shiver as she leads her little party down that long red tongue towards her mother. They’re the only things moving in the room, besides the flames on the torches. They’re the only spots of color, besides the carpet and the two long banners that hang on either side of Maleficent’s throne.

Some villains had been humanized by the stripping of their powers, but Maleficent was fae, through and through, and remained as alien as ever without her magic glow. Her skin was alabaster white, and at her full height, she stood seven feet tall, though she didn’t often bother to inhabit her full form. Everything about her was angular, sharp, her cheekbones rested improbably high, and her green eyes were long slits that seemed unable to miss a thing, even if she didn’t care to see it at all. She had no hair, but the thick covering of black fur that covered her head could be mistaken for such. Overshadowing the fur were the two curling black horns that rose six inches above the crown of her head, perfectly symmetrical and glimmering in the torchlight.

She wore a quiet, amused smirk, as her daughter and the Auradonians trudged up the carpet to meet her.

When they reach the foot of the platform, Mal calmly lifts her eyes up to meet Maleficent’s. “Mother.”

“Spawn,” Maleficent replies in turn, her high, dry voice ringing through the hall. “You’ve returned. Auradon didn’t find you suitable?”

“I think you’ll recall Auradon is under new management,” Mal replies steadily, tonelessly. So the dance begins – the endless, futile task of trying to keep up with her mother. At least the Mistress of Evil seems, bizarrely, to not be angry.

“Spawn of Maleficent, couldn’t make herself useful to an up-and-coming villainess.” Maleficent sighs. “Had I known I failed so badly I would never have sent you at all. Not only do you fail to spark your own rebellion, you can’t even join someone else’s.” The scorn is clear in her voice, but Mal stays silent, eyes still on her mother’s eyes, watching impassively. “I suppose these are Belle’s brats that you’ve brought home with you.”

“Crown Prince Ben and Crown Princess Cassia,” Mal introduces formally, and she’s glad the siblings choose to nod stiffly, rather than curtsy or bow.

“Well, can’t they speak for themselves?”

“I never said they couldn’t.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“I think you’re quite capable of that.”

Maleficent rolls her eyes. “I trust you’ll forgive my offspring’s poor manners. In my defense, I hardly raised her.”

That prompts a sardonic snort from Mal, and Maleficent smirks down on her. It’s the closest they ever get to laughing together. Maleficent returns her gaze to the Auradonians, and Mal watches them fight not to squirm under her watchful eyes. “I understand that you’re expecting to stay in my castle?”

“Yes,” Ben responds, meeting Maleficent’s eyes with at least the appearance of calm. “And we thank you for your generosity.”

“Hmph.” Maleficent sticks her nose, in the air, sighs dramatically. “You may count yourselves lucky for my protection.”

“We do,” replies Ben steadily.

“Spawn, you are in charge of them,” Maleficent informs her daughter dispassionately. “Stay out of my way and out of my sight. I don’t like to be bothered. If I have a need for you, I will summon you, and you will respond immediately.”

“I’ll respond when I can,” Mal replies carelessly. It’s risky, but she needs to keep up appearances.

“You will respond _immediately.”_ Maleficent’s eyes flash green, and Mal knows she’s pushed it too far. She feels that cold gaze deep in her bones, penetrating her skin. She can’t look away, and Maleficent holds her there, freezing and burning, for a few moments longer before she relents and looks away.

“We will respond immediately. Of course, Mother,” Mal spits, doing her best not to shake too visibly.

“Good. Dismissed.” Maleficent waves them away, and Mal leads the Auradonians back behind the throne and out of the room. Out of the throne room, Mal can finally breathe. She didn’t realize how much tension she was holding in her shoulders until she relaxes and feels her back ache.

As soon as the oak door shuts behind them, Ben and Cassia are accosting her with questions.

“Is she always like that?” Cassia whispers, fascinated.

Ben runs a hand through his hair. “Do you think that went okay?”

Mal tips her head. “Yeah, it went fine,” she allowed, shrugging. “And yes, she is always like that.”

Privately, Mal is shocked by how well it went. She expected some kind of blowup, or at the very least, some interrogation of Ben and Cassia. The silence and the barely taking notice, that set Mal far more ill at ease than a full-scale shouting match would have. As per usual, Maleficent is playing her cards close to her chest, and Mal reminds herself that when it comes to her mother, she has to be prepared for anything.

“Come on,” Mal waves the Auradonians after her with a poorly concealed sigh. “I’ll show you around.”


	7. nor is anything secret that will not be made known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No triggers that I can think of in this chapter, but if I missed anything, please let me know!

The mood in the castle dungeons is tense, angry, fearful, frustrated, and, most dangerously – dismissive. Even as the royals rail against the woman who has imprisoned him, Belle hears them disrespect her in the same breath. Adam, her own husband, is pontificating now on how he thinks the fact that the royals are all imprisoned in the same wing is a sign of Vlasta’s ignorance. “The king and all his advisors, imprisoned next to each other, within hearing distance?” He shakes his head. “She has no idea what she’s dealing with.”

Privately, Belle feels differently about it. From what she’s seen of Vlasta so far, the woman is smart. She put all the royals and the advisors together because this is the highest security section of the dungeon. And the fact that she doesn’t seem to care that they can all talk to each other, can strategize…Belle doesn’t think that the woman hasn’t thought of that. She just thinks the villainess doesn’t care. And the idea that the woman thinks she’s _that_ untouchable should really, really scare them all.

Instead, they spend way too much time scoffing at her. The war council, made up this year of Adam, Fairy Godmother, Duke Stephen Charming, advisor Mulan, and commander Shang; they all dismiss her as a bitter, crazy old hag who got lucky a few times. “She has _no_ idea how to run a kingdom,” asserts Duke Stephen confidently. “She won’t last the month.”

There are others, Belle notices, who stay silent like her. Half the time, Queen Merida seems about to speak, face screwed up in fury, and then Duchess Ainsley will stop her, and try to calm her down, and neither of them will give voice to whatever the queen was thinking. Queen Tiana and King Naveen, down at the end of the hall, haven’t said much either. Queen Ariel is more than ready to fight, and King Eric has to keep calming her down. King Flynn and Queen Rapunzel have been strategizing for escape since they were all locked in here. Sultan Jasmine is more dismissive than Sultana Aladdin – he’s the only one that’s flat out said that he thinks Vlasta is dangerous, really dangerous.

But Sultana Aladdin says it quietly, and he only says it once, so it isn’t long before the comment is forgotten.

Those who are worried about Vlasta outweigh those who aren’t, in terms of sheer numbers. But Belle’s belligerent husband and his allies are so loud it’s hard to hear anything but the blind force of their optimism. Deep down, Belle knows it’s a way of staving off fear, same as her little surveys and observations. They’re both trying to get around the fact that there’s nothing they can do for their people, nothing they can do for their children.

The announcement came last night – that their children had been shipped out to the Isle of the Lost. Not even that they were going, but that the first group had already left. Of course, Ben and Cassie were in that group, sent to live with Maleficent, the most dangerous creature on the whole damned Island.

If there was ever a time when Adam could’ve broken the bars to their cell with his fists, it would’ve been then. Belle saw the hints of beast that still lurked in him when he tore at the iron until his fists bled, and for a fleeting moment she wished for that creature, one with the same soul she loved, but who might be able to _do_ something about the danger their kids are in.

And then she lets it go. No sense in dreaming about that now.

Vlasta’s messenger, a tall, skinny, blank-faced man, had waited calmly until Adam’s howls subsided before he read the names of the other Auradon youth who’d been sent to the Isle. It had been in Adam to continue raging, continue screaming questions, but Belle made him see otherwise. The other parents here were desperate to hear the fates of their own children, and his tantrum was getting in the way. He had growled but lapsed into silence.

Duchess Aurora had fainted when she heard that her three were being sent to her stepmother, and Duke Philip had howled almost as loudly as Adam. Duchess Cinderella wept when she heard about her children, sent to the Tremaines, and Duke Charming, holding her, had looked as if he would start weeping too. When the news reach King Kristoff and Queen Anna, both wept – they had six children, and little Lizette, in the hands of Hans…it was too much for either one to bear.

And then the announcer reads the last names on the list, and all hell breaks loose. “Lastly, the royal children of Queen Merida, those being Cerise, Lucia, and Leonidas will be placed in the custody of Cruella de Vil, at Hell Hall.”

Queen Merida goes completely, deathly quiet, which is somehow much scarier than her screaming Scottish Gaelic curses, and Duchess Ainsley steps up to the bars. Unable to resist, Belle strains, but hears nothing of whatever the duchess murmurs to this announcer. Still, she sees the look on Duchess Ainsley’s face for just a moment before she turns away. It’s an expression too terrible to look at for more than a few moments. Belle can hardly stand to remember the strange fire in the other woman’s eyes.

Since then, they’ve all been alternately raging against Vlasta and despondent over their children. Belle’s afraid. They’re all afraid. She tells herself that she just needs to stay calm, and that everyone is coping. They’re all just trying to cope. She almost wishes…she shouldn’t think it, but she almost wishes her coping was louder, more noticeable. Adam is treating her with kid gloves. He thinks she’s in shock. She’s not in shock. She understands what’s going on, feels it in her bones as a pulling kind of panic. But there’s nothing she can do, and she doesn’t weep or faint or scream. She just sits there, as if she’s made peace with it. Has she made peace with it?

Mal will protect her two. Belle knows that regardless of the girl’s pedigree, Mal will keep her children safe as best she can. And Maleficent is not outright vicious, although certainly cagey and not to be trusted. She likes to play the long game, and she likes to keep her hands clean. Ben and Cassia are far better off than say, Arendelle’s six, or Queen Merida’s three.

Those parents in particular are desolate. They wouldn’t have been in Auradon at all had it not been for diplomatic meetings. It was strange. Vlasta had struck at just the right time to effectively cripple all the nearby kingdoms in one blow. The leaders of Agrabah, Auradon, Arendelle, DunBroch, Atlantica, Corona, and Maldonia, all gathered in Auradon at just the right time for an attack. A day earlier and she would’ve missed King Eric and Queen Ariel, Sultana Aladdin and Sultan Jasmine. A day later and she would’ve missed Queen Merida and Duchess Ainsley, King Naveen and Queen Tiana, and possibly even King Flynn, though the queen, Rapunzel had planned to stay on a bit without her husband. The only leaders she’d really missed were the Atlanteans, the Olympians, and the Narnians. The other kingdoms, while missing their leaders, won’t be crippled by the loss of advisors. Their cities aren’t under siege. Hopefully, along with the three unscathed kingdoms, they’ll be able to overthrow Vlasta in a matter of weeks. But the stunning luck of the attack, the coordination, the way the woman, a complete unknown, had figured out exactly where and how to hit, it bothered Belle. It stuck with her, in the back of her mind.

Then, suddenly, they have much more pressing things to worry about.

For the past day, since they heard the news, they’ve all been sharing what they know of the villains on the Isle and the four kids that are being sent back. That all changes when the messenger returns, carrying a stack of papers.

“As requested,” he announces, “the latest communications between the high council and Yen Sid, the magician spy stationed on the Isle of the Lost at the time of its inception.” Looking across their cell at Adam’s face, Belle feels her stomach grow cold.

“I didn’t request this,” Adam denies, staggering to his feet. “Those letters are sealed, and not to be opened!”

“They have been unsealed,” the messenger replies mildly, “and the records were requested. Vlasta felt it was a fair request.”

“I didn’t request any damn files-”

“I did.”

It’s Queen Merida’s voice, her Scottish brogue thick, her voice utterly unapologetic. “If my kids are over there, I’m making damn sure I know what’s going on.”

“Those letters are sealed for a reason, and you have no authority to request them.” Adam is enraged, but Belle knows him well enough, and even if she didn’t, she’s seen him over the past few days, the way he reacts to uncertainty. Her husband is afraid. The bad feeling in the pit of her stomach worsens.

“Don’t tell me what I have a right to know,” Queen Merida snarls. “Those are my children over there. I want to know what kind of prison they’re stuck in.”

“It’s a matter of security,” Adam argues, the tendons on his neck standing out. “It’s not meant for anyone but the high council.”

“Until now, it wasn’t relevant to anyone but the high council,” Queen Merida points out. “What can possibly be in there that’s going to change this for the worse?”

“I’d feel better, hearing it,” Duchess Aurora says quietly. Neither she nor Duke Philip are on the council. “I want to know where Audrey is. What the conditions are like.”

“Us too,” King Kristoff calls from down the hall, and now Adam’s anger is starting to look like that of a trapped animal. The sentiment is echoed by different royals, different parents who know their children are at risk and aren’t on the high council, have never given much thought to the Isle, and are now desperate for any information, all the information.

The messenger clears his throat. “This is the last communication between Yen Sid and King Adam, dated eight years after the creation of the Island.”

There’s a pause. “That’s…that’s thirteen years ago, isn’t it?” Queen Ariel’s voice is tentative. “Why haven’t there been more letters?”

“Quiet,” hisses Queen Merida. “We can work out the fine details later. You,” she waves an impatient hand at the messenger, “go on.”

The messenger begins again. “Yen Sid gives their status report on the conditions on the Island. They discuss lack of infrastructure in regard to food supply, systems of law, sanitation, policing, housing, education-”

“Can you say this in plain English?” Sultan Jasmine’s voice is frustrated, but as always, there’s fear there. “What does he mean, lack of infrastructure?”

“Yen Sid cites the failure of the Island to become self-sustaining in terms of food supply and requests aid from Auradon.”

“The aid we send wasn’t enough?” That’s Duke Philip asking, and Belle can tell from the way Adam’s shoulders tense that the answer isn’t going to be one that anyone is going to like. She steels herself, hands tightening in her lap.

“There was no aid sent to the Isle of the Lost following the first year of its establishment,” the messenger informs them, and for a moment there is no sound in the dungeon.

“What do you mean, no aid?” Queen Ariel doesn’t even sound upset yet. She only sounds confused. Belle thinks that that will change, very soon. “No…no food? No medicine? No building or farming supplies?”

“None,” confirms the messenger. “The missive also states that there has been no formation of any kind of system of law or punishments for violations of said, nonexistent laws. There is no one to enforce any kind of rule or punishment. Yen Sid primarily cites interpersonal violence, thievery, and the abuse of children as results of the lack of order.”

“Fucking hell,” Queen Merida breathes, but the messenger isn’t done.

“Education is described as a joke, housing as unsafe and inadequate, and healthcare or medicine as nonexistent. In the healthcare section, Yen Sid notes that the barrier’s prevention against murder extends to the termination of unwanted pregnancies, rendering abortions of any kind impossible. They state that this is inhumane, particularly given the dearth of birth control products. Sanitation is abominable, given that Islanders lack the ability necessary to produce soap, towels, disinfectant, or menstrual products. Yen Sid reports that lacking any other options, Islanders resort to raiding the garbage barges that come from Auradon every Wednesday for food, clothes, medicine, home items…pretty much everything that is needed either comes from the garbage barges, or does not come at all. People are often hungry, due to lack of food, and he believes ill tempers contribute to the continued high incidence of violence on the Isle. There is a separate section on sexual violence, and a separate section on violence against children. In a section on the Island itself, Yen Sid notes that they believe all wildlife has been extinguished, as it was necessary for Islanders to overhunt the native animal population in order to obtain food to survive. They conclude the report by outlining an extensive list of materials needed from Auradon to salvage and attempt to support the Island community. This list includes food, materials for encouraging the Island’s self-sufficiency, and professionals from many fields, with particular urgency placed on the need for doctors, nurses, and individuals with the ability to enforce the rule of law. They explain that they have been asking for these things for many years, in increasingly desperate language, and request an explanation for the lack of response on the part of the council. They want to know when the Island can expect aid.”

One could hear a pin drop in the crowded dungeon. Belle is hardly breathing. There were gasps, shocked and angry murmurs at first, but now there is just breathing. She and Adam are both facing the bars, facing the messenger. She’s glad she doesn’t have to look at him.

Finally, Queen Merida breaks the silence. “Well, go on,” she demands impatiently. “What did the king say?”

“The response from the high council reads, ‘Messages received and understood. No aid will be offered at this time.’”

There is a collective inhale, as if they’re all preparing to shout, but Duchess Ainsley manages a few words before they explode. “Is that all?” she asks urgently, brows knitting. “Is that…is that everything? The end of communications?”

“No,” the messenger answers, and here Adam’s head drops. “Yen Sid replies to that message with the following lines. ‘I will no longer report on abysmal conditions that you refuse to do anything to fix. You are at best indifferent, and at worst a vengeful voyeur presiding over unimaginable suffering. This Island is unlivable, and forcing anyone, especially children who are there only for their bloodline, is unconscionable.’” The messenger draws a breath. “’You may be the titled sovereign, but you are no king of mine.’”

The tension in the dungeon is unbearable. Belle wants to close her eyes, but she forces herself to watch the messenger, not daring to look at the royals around her, people she has always considered friends. She doesn’t want to see the way they’re looking at her now.

“And what does the king say to that?” Duchess Ainsley asks, her voice soft.

“In response to this message, the high council strips Yen Sid of their position as advisor and servant to the Crown, and instead remands them to permanent residency on the Isle of the Lost, as a villain and a traitor. Thus ends all official communication with the penal colony known as the Isle of the Lost.”

The messenger bows formally, without a hint of mockery, and Belle cannot for the life of her understand why. Without another word, he turns and exits, and leaves the royals to do and say what they will. Belle allows herself one moment with her eyes closed, to brace herself.

“What in the fuck were you thinking?” demands Queen Merida, and Belle is not surprised that she’s the first to speak. “What kind of sick situation are you running over there? What kind of hell are our children in?”

“There were decisions made by the high council-” Adam is speaking through gritted teeth. He doesn’t get many words out.

“ _Why?”_ Queen Anna’s voice carries down the hall. “ _Why_ were those decisions made by the high council? It was bad enough when we thought it was a sort of prison colony, when the children couldn’t leave, but those conditions-”

“We couldn’t sustain them forever,” Fairy Godmother puts in, trying to sound authoritative. She trades glances with Adam, looking for support. “Eventually, they needed to be able to stand on their own. We couldn’t be responsible for propping up the entire society-”

“Except that _you_ created the damn society!” Duchess Ainsley spits. Usually the levelheaded one, she looks fit to kill. Belle squeezes her eyes shut for another moment, opens them again, and watches the group tear into her husband, into the high council.

“How could they be expected to sustain themselves with no resources?” Duchess Ainsley’s voice again.

“These people were deemed too dangerous to be on the streets of Auradon, or even in a prison in Auradon, but we expected them to police themselves and each other fairly?” Duke Philip is justifiably incredulous. The voice build and rise, and Belle loses track of who’s speaking.

“You knew that people were starving and did nothing-”

“You left innocent, defenseless children at the mercy of known villains, with no police to protect them-”

“That’s a whole town of people, a couple hundred, with _no doctors?_ No medical facilities at all? That’s inhuman!”

“Unfair.”

“Unbelievable.”

“And to sentence the man to life on the Island when he was only trying to tell you the truth! When he was trying to do what was right!”

“Enough!” Adam roars, and there’s more than a little beast in his voice when he does. The room, incredibly, quiets, though Adam’s authority seems more fragile by the minute. “We made the decisions we thought were right for our people and our kingdom. Sustaining a community, the size of the Isle of the Lost, disadvantaged our kingdom and our citizens. We thought, given time, they could collect themselves, and…”

“And what?” Queen Tiana’s voice is utterly unforgiving. “And we wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore? The Isle is Auradon’s responsibility. You created it.”

Until now, Duke Philip has been sitting on the bottom bunk in his little dungeon cell, but now he stands. “You all sent us your villains and your criminals,” he points out, glaring out at the group of them. “Jafar, from Agrabah, Hans, from Arendelle, Ursula, from Atlantica. All of them. But did you send aid? Did you catch conscience when you heard they’d had children? None of you wanted that responsibility. And no concerned citizens came to us either, no one asking about the health of the villains or their children. No one wanted to talk about it, no one wanted to deal with it, and no one knew what to do. Neither did we. At least we tried.”

“Tried what?” snipes Queen Merida. “The age-old solution of locking everyone in a box and waiting for them to kill each other? Oh wait, you made murder impossible. Tell me, did you want them to suffer as long as possible, or was it just a pleasant side effect?”

“These _are_ criminals we’re discussing!” Fairy Godmother reminds them in a high, nervous voice. “Many of them have attempted murder, enslavement, power grabs, all kinds of evil. They are not innocent lambs suffering at our hands.”

“Of course.” Duchess Ainsley’s voice is dripping sarcasm. “So you, as the more advanced, more ethical society, banished them to an inescapable Island with not enough food, no supplies with which to found a society, and no access to basic rights like medical care. Let’s not forget that their helpless, blameless children are naturally imprisoned with them, too. What a kind and just and _fair_ society you run, King Beast.”

The nickname rouses Adam, and he starts forward furiously, only stopping when Belle lays a hand on her arm. “Duchess Ainsley,” she begins, her voice calm. It’s quiet enough that they all turn to look at her, and she almost quails under all those eyes. Instead, she meets Duchess Ainsley’s, and talks directly to her. “I understand that you are upset. I think all of us are. I will remind you that my own children are on that Island, and I also fear for their safety.”

A nod from the duchess concedes the point. Belle draws in a deep breath and continues. “We may not like the decisions made years ago. We may not agree with them. We may even find them reprehensible. But those decisions have already been made, and there is nothing we can do to change the past, especially not from these cells. The Isle of the Lost may be a problem that we have to resolve. But that is not our problem now. Our problem now is our children, and our own imprisonment. I suggest we focus our considerable resources on that.”

“Well put, Queen Belle,” Commander Mulan says, after a moment.

“Shut up, high council,” mutters a voice down the hallway, and Belle swallows.

Scowling, Queen Merida across the way shakes her head. “I see your point, Queen,” she admits. “But I don’t like this pushing off business. I want to see your damned husband held accountable for his crimes. And the rest of the council, too. At the end of this business, I trust the rest of you won’t forget what we learned here.”

On Adam’s arm, Belle’s hand tightens into a squeeze, keeping him quiet. The subdued answers from around the dungeon are enough. Belle’s point hit home far more than Queen Merida’s. There will be a time for justice later. Now is the time for being parents.

“So,” Belle starts again, carefully, “using what we’ve learned – how do we help our children?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure y'all noticed, this chapter deals a lot more with politics and the motivations behind the attack on Auradon/imprisonment of the kids. For the kids' chapters, the primary focus is going to be surviving on the Island, but the parent POV is going to go a little more into the mystery of who Vlasta is and all that. I was planning on focusing way more on the kids, but if the parent POV is interesting, let me know and I'll add more of that!


	8. the mercies of the eyes of others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Verbal abuse, Grimhilde being extremely hard on Lydia/Evie

The next morning, Lydia wakes Audrey up at seven thirty. “We have thirty minutes, and then we’re expected to help Grimhilde with chores,” she explains quietly.

While Audrey is still waking up, Lydia dresses herself, painstakingly examining at least three different outfits in a mirror. She has to cover herself, she explains to Audrey, or Grimhilde would call her a slut. At the same time, she had to look good, had to offer enough of herself to keep men interested. She had to look like a princess, but not like a prude. She had to make her clothes seem expensive when it was all Island junk anyway. The rules she lived within, or tried to live within, were exhausting. Audrey’s head spun just trying to keep them all straight.

After she’s dressed, Audrey notices she has on a full face of makeup. “I’ve been up since six,” Lydia admits softly. “Mother’s angry. I need to look nice, or…”

She shrugs, busies herself with emptying potion bottles, which she’s dumping out the window. “If you need clothes, you can wear anything of mine or Evie’s.”

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Audrey rouses herself, examining the twins’ shared closet for something she can wear. Eventually she pulls on a pair of jeans and a v neck t-shirt, feeling more than a little self-conscious wearing someone else’s clothes. “Will…” she’s looking at herself in the mirror and suddenly feeling terribly inadequate. “Will Grimhilde criticize me…like, for what I’m wearing, or…” She ducks her head, but Lydia smiles gently.

“No, she’ll be fine,” she reassures Audrey. “You might not even have to help with chores.”

“I don’t mind,” Audrey’s quick to offer, but Lydia just shrugs.

“She might not let you. Thinks it’s important for us to do chores because we’re spoiled.”

“Spoiled?” Audrey sputters. “How in the fuck does that woman-”

“I don’t know,” Lydia shrugs, with a tired smile. “You ready? We need to get downstairs.”

They’re waiting in the kitchen for a few moments before Grimhilde arrives, and Lydia is visibly, terribly on edge. For good reason, too, Audrey soon sees. It starts the instant Grimhilde sets eyes on Lydia. Her lips immediately draw into an exaggerated frown. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away,” she remarks, lips pursed. “Leave me to do all the chores the way I have been for months.”

“Sorry, Mother,” Lydia murmurs. Inwardly, Audrey rages at the unfairness of it. They were awake and here and ready before Grimhilde was, so how can she say that to her daughter? As it turns out, she can say that and a hell of a lot more.

“What did you wake Audrey up for? Surely you could have let our guest sleep. Very thoughtless of you, Lydia. I’m disappointed.”

It’s on Audrey’s lips to protest, but Lydia gives her a subtle head shake behind Grimhilde’s back, and she remembers their deal. She has to pretend to dislike Lydia as much as she did before. Unhappy and uncomfortable, she tosses her head and pretends to be put out. “I mean, I guess I was already awake,” she mutters, keeping her voice sulky. She’s not going to throw Lydia entirely under the bus if she can help it.

Grimhilde is all too happy to pick up on her false irritation. “I couldn’t tell you _what_ my daughter was thinking,” she says, shaking her head. “I just hope you weren’t thinking you’d force our poor guest to do _your_ chores, lazy girl.”

“Of course not, Mother,” replies Lydia obediently. Grimhilde scowls.

“That’s exactly what you were thinking, I’m sure. No matter. Audrey, love, why don’t you fix yourself some breakfast? Lydia and I will get started in the kitchen so you won’t be all alone in this big drafty castle!” There’s that tinkling laugh, the one that Audrey is coming to hate.

“Would you like me to fix you breakfast?” she asks, oozing charm. “Or – something?” she catches herself at the last second, before she offers to make something for Lydia.

“Oh, how kind of you,” gushes Grimhilde. “Let’s see. I’ll have a little something. I’ll sit and eat with you.” Her tone changes completely then. “Lydia. Dishes, now.”

Without a word, the Evil Queen’s daughter set to scrubbing the dishes piled up in the sink, and Grimhilde turned back to Audrey. “Now, are you wearing Evie’s clothes?”

Reminding herself to be a spoiled little bitch, Audrey nods, but heaves an exaggerated sigh as she does. “I couldn’t take _anything_ of mine with me.”

“I’m sure you have much finer things than the rags Evie prefers to wear,” Grimhilde agrees, rolling her eyes.

It’s honestly incredible how she can turn every single little thing into a criticism of her daughters. When they’re talking about Audrey it’s light enough, or Grimhilde’s brief time as a queen and a stepmother, or even the design of her castle. But little chances crop up, or Grimhilde creates them, and she tears into the twins viciously. Moving around the kitchen, washing dishes and wiping down counters, Lydia gives absolutely no sign that she’s heard, but Audrey can’t help thinking that if her mother ever talked like that about _her,_ she’d be in tears in minutes.

She must look a little too long at her plate, or at Lydia’s back, because Grimhilde lays a hand over hers and speaks in a confidential tone that’s well loud enough for her daughter to hear. “Lydia’s fasting for the next few days, so don’t worry about her.” Audrey is reminded of the decree in that horrible room yesterday and has to fight not to gulp. “It’ll help her lose that weight she gained over there in Auradon.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Audrey lies airily, and Grimhilde smiles at her approvingly. Being on the receiving end of that smile makes Audrey feels sick, but she grins at Grimhilde and swallows her disgust. If this is what she can do to help Lydia, then she’d better do the best damn job she can.

After breakfast, they move through the castle, cleaning for a few hours, Audrey not pushing to help after she’s told not to a few times. Grimhilde does help her daughter with the cleaning, and the areas of the castle that she keeps tidy aren’t too much of a problem to begin with. When that work is done, Lydia speaks for the first time.

It isn’t until Audrey hears Lydia’s low, measured tone that she realizes the other young woman hasn’t spoken in hours. “Mother?”

“Yes, Lydia?”

“May…may I get Evie, now?”

Tipping her head, Grimhilde appears to consider it. “No,” she declares, smirking at the way Lydia’s face falls. “She’ll stay until this afternoon.”

“M-mother, we’re meant to meet Mal at noon,” Lydia says quietly.

“Well, take Audrey,” Grimhilde tells her airily. “It’s still two girls, and I personally find Audrey charming. I’m sure Mal won’t care.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Audrey makes sure to curtsy, and Grimhilde beams.

“Lydia, why can’t you be more like _this_ child?” she demands, and as she turns to her daughter, she doesn’t see Audrey’s smile slip.

The rest of the morning they spend in the garden, and this time Lydia is far from quiet. She and her mother are murmuring back and forth, examining different plants and plucking leaves or flowers here and there. They have an extensive garden, guarded by a high stone wall, but none of the plants are anything Audrey recognizes. Grimhilde and her daughter trade unfamiliar words and names, and for once they seem to converse as equals. It’s the safest Audrey’s felt around Grimhilde.

Of course, it can’t last. Half past eleven, Evie straightens, checks the watch on her slim wrist, and swallows hard before she speaks. “Mother,” she begins carefully, “Audrey and I have to go now, if we’re going to meet Mal.”

Straightening, Grimhilde sneers across the garden at her daughter. “Fine. But I’ll have a list of potions and patterns for you when you get back, and if you neglect your chores to go consort with Maleficent’s spawn…”

The Evil Queen doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Lydia swallows and nods. She beckons Audrey, but the Queen isn’t done yet.

“Don’t let my daughter embarrass herself while she’s out,” trills Grimhilde.

Forcing an eye roll, Audrey shrugs. “I’ll _try_ not to, Your Highness.” The honorific was a spur of the moment decision, but Audrey can see how it delights the woman, and resolves to use that in the future. If Grimhilde is happy, surely she won’t be as hard on her kids?

When they’re outside the castle, Audrey asks Lydia quietly, and the other teen nods cautiously. “As long as she doesn’t think you’re mocking her, that could work pretty well,” she says encouragingly. Audrey nods and tries to feel like she’s actually doing something useful, instead of making up miniscule ways to comfort herself.

As they slip through alleys and behind ramshackle houses, Lydia explains the layout of the Isle of the Lost. Most villains live clustered around the bay, in homes in various stages of dereliction and disrepair. A few of the royals had the means to build themselves castles – Maleficent, of course, but also the Evil Queen, Hades, Mother Gothel, and Dr. Facilier. Even without their powers, the villains who had once had access to magic had a clear advantage over those who didn’t. Jafar, after all, had been a royal vizier, from a long line of advisors, and despite his brief time as a genie, he was stuck running a junk shop in the heart of the market, one most dangerous spots on the Island. People congregated where those who had little to sell tried to hawk it, and it was a place for thievery, at the mildest, and outright brawls, on the worst days. People went to the market not just for wares, but for entertainment. There was sure to be something going on in those dark alleys worth watching.

The castles, without exception, lingered on the outskirts of town, and every year, the constructed huts and clapboard homes crept closer. Only Maleficent’s door remained undarkened by the growing creep – when she deemed the houses too close to her walls, she sent out her goons to burn them down.

Outside of town, there was a forest – huge, impenetrable, dark. It went on for miles, but few bothered to enter. Any animals who once lived in the trees or bushes had long since been killed and eaten. There weren’t even any birds, or if there were, they did an enviable job keeping quiet and hidden. That was where they were going – into the forest, a few miles deep, past a river that roared over boulders and a ravine where one could slip and never be seen again. There were safe ways to traverse the obstacles, ways that Mal and her gang had devised. And deep in there, where they thought they’d be safe, was their hideout.

It was exhausting and annoying, hauling all of their supplies out there, but they wanted a safe place, a hidden place, and without dedicated time and energy, no one could find them there. “We considered the cave system on the back of the Island,” Lydia explains, shrugging, “but in the end it was too far, and a little too risky. The caves are dangerous – people get lost even when they swear they know their way. Some people say the entrances and exits change, and the tunnels move when you’re not in them. They’re a death trap.” Lydia’s lost in thinking about it for a moment, and she shudders. “Besides. They’re dark.”

Audrey knows without asking that the twins must have been the ones to talk down any of the others that liked the idea of the caves better. Her heart twinges at the thought of them arguing, smooth-faced, pure logic, while all the time their hearts raced. All that time, not sharing anything with their friends.

“What’s on the other side of the Island?”

Lydia shrugs. “It’s all forest, and mostly unexplored. If there are any animals left, they’re over there. The White Witch lives up on the mountain, too, I guess. She has two sons. They’re all completely insane. Show up every few years in the market and clean out what they want then leave without paying. The vendors throw tantrums, but people are afraid to touch them. They’re spooky.”

Troubled, Audrey nods. “So…so why are you guys building your own place? So far away? Just somewhere to get away from your parents, or…?”

“We were going to live there,” Lydia admits, with a small sigh. They’ve stepped through the boundary of the trees now, are moving swiftly between the trees. Lydia moves like a deer through the undergrowth, able to find exactly the right spot to put her feet so her clothes don’t snag on branches, so she doesn’t twist an ankle. Audrey does her best to follow in her footsteps and can’t for the life of her figure out how Lydia manages. “We, um…well, we weren’t going to live with our parents forever. Everyone wanted out. Once it was ready, we would move in, and we’d make our own lives out there. It was harder than we thought – can’t get electric or running water, at least not from the town grid – but Carlos was working on it. Evie and I were seeding a garden, fruit trees, even though we wouldn’t see fruit for years. Jay said he found this place near the mouth of the river, where you can cast a line into the ocean, and it won’t just bounce back. And Mal was so certain there were animals in the forest, that had survived, and if we could raise rabbits, or even rats – I know you think it’s disgusting, don’t look at me like that. It was exactly what we wanted, and as soon as Carlos figured out heat and running water…He said he’d have it in a few months, and then…”

Lydia had gotten so excited, talking about their little forged paradise, and now she lapsed into wistful silence. For her part, Audrey can’t believe that these kids’ deepest dreams are so…small. So simple. They’re asking for so little – just to be away from people who hurt them, and to have food, and time to do whatever they want.

“What about your other friends?” she asks, unable to imagine being completely content with a life alone in the woods.

Lydia shakes her head. “There are girls Jay flirts with, and boys that chase Evie and I,” she explains with a quick grin. “But we don’t really have many friends. We’d visit, but only when we wanted to, or when we needed something.”

“Your parents would just let you go?”

“We wouldn’t need them anymore,” Lydia explains softly. “They wouldn’t be able to find us, and if they did, we’d just run again. Jay’s almost eighteen, you know.”

“Really?” Audrey’s surprised. She’d thought he was closer to sixteen. They’re all small for their age, and she winces when she thinks about why.

“Really,” Lydia confirms. “Kids don’t usually stay with their parents past seventeen or eighteen. They wouldn’t be that surprised if we left, and we’d defend ourselves, and if we weren’t even in town we wouldn’t need their protection anymore.”

“And you’d just…live out there? By yourselves?”

“We’d have each other.” Lydia smiles. “We’d have each other, and we have plenty to do – food, and Carlos’s projects, and Jay’s constant home improvements. Mal is all about defense, and Evie and I would have potions and sewing to keep us busy. We’d see people in town when we wanted to but mostly…” she sighs. “It was…it was a stupid dream, I guess.”

“No,” Audrey chokes out, around the lump in her throat. “No, it’s, um, it’s really sweet.” Lydia flashes her a smile, and Audrey swallows hard. Really, all these kids wanted in the world, their biggest, wildest ambition, was in the end just to be left alone, safe, and to feed themselves, with the people they love. It’s heartbreaking.

They’ve reached the river, and Lydia shows her how to scramble over the boulders without losing her footing. She points out the false steps farther down the riverbank. “Mal’s idea,” she says, shaking her head. “The river looks calm, but the current is so much stronger down there.”

“Devious,” Audrey mutters, and Lydia flashes her a suspicious look, but Audrey sounds genuinely impressed, so she lets it slide.

Deeper in, the underbrush gets thicker, and even Lydia starts to struggle. A few minutes later, they reach the ravine, and Lydia shows Audrey a lever, hidden between rock on the side of the ravine. A crank of the shaft, and a rope unfurls from a tree whose branches stretch over the ravine. “This part is a little nerve-wracking,” Lydia explains quietly.

Describing it as a little nerve-wracking is a huge understatement, in Audrey’s opinion. As she dangles above the dark ravine from a rope that someone in Auradon _threw away,_ she really wishes Lydia had gone into a bit more detail about what “this part” entailed. The rope came down, right in front of Lydia, and she swung across. Then, she swung it back to Audrey, who hugged the rope as tight as she could with arms and legs, and tried to swing…

And failed.

“Don’t worry!” Lydia shouted across the yawning chasm. “We planned for this.” On the other side of the gap, she presses another hidden lever, and an unseen crank starts to haul Audrey upwards, turn by turn. By the time she reaches the branch where the crank mechanism rests, she’s in tears from nerves.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia winces, seeing Audrey’s terrified, teary face. “I’m so sorry. We, we didn’t want to build a bridge because-”

“No, no.” Audrey shakes her head and swipes a hand across her nose. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Just, um, just scared me. For a second.”

She takes a moment to catch her breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Audrey takes a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

After the ravine, it’s only a few more minutes before they arrive at a clearing. “Oh,” Lydia says softly as it comes into view. “It’s all still here.”

‘All’ isn’t a whole hell of a lot, in Audrey’s opinion, but she keeps quiet about that. She sees the way Lydia’s shoulders relax, the relief in every line of her body. Seeing the joy in Lydia’s face, she considers the clearing again.

There are rough planters, now overgrown with weeds, and a pump off in the corner that has cobwebs all over the handle. Another corner has a tall wooden construction that Audrey is willing to bet is an outhouse. She glances sideways at Lydia. The other girl can’t stop smiling. Audrey smiles herself and looks again.

It’s extremely impressive for a treehouse, she’ll readily admit that. They must have spent ages finding the tree – it must be ten feet thick at its base. Nor is it a pine that shoots up in a straight line – about twenty-five feet up, it splits into huge branches, which support the weight of the home that the Island kids have built. From down here, it doesn’t look very big, but she can see the glint of glass in the windows. She suspects there’s more to the building that meets the eye.

“C’mon,” Lydia waves her on eagerly. There’s another lever, hidden in the rocks piled at the base of the tree, and when she cranks this one down, a rope ladder drops from above. Lydia climbs up first. From below, Audrey watches her manipulate some kind of a lock, one that Audrey’s never seen before, and then hang it carefully on a sturdy nearby branch. “Carlos made that,” she explains to Audrey, peeking back over her shoulder. “It’s not a combo lock, it’s so much weirder.” As she climbs past, Audrey stops to examine it, and she can’t help agreeing with Lydia. She’s never seen anything like it before, wouldn’t even recognize it as a lock if she hadn’t seen Lydia open it. Shaking her head, she follows Lydia through the trapdoor into the treehouse. No one but Carlos would think of designing a new kind of lock to keep his people safe. And she’s certain there’s no one but him that can crack it without knowing the code.

She pulls herself through the hatch, and into a musty, dark room. “It’s been so long,” Lydia says apologetically, already walking around and opening all the windows, lighting lanterns that hang from strategic spots on the walls. The dank air dissipates, and the room brightens up, and Audrey stands cautiously, finding the rafters above her very low – still comfortably over her head, but well within her reach. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies a ladder, and a hatch cut into the ceiling, and can’t help lifting her eyebrows in surprise at the idea of a second story.

The boards beneath her feet are steady and have been sanded to smoothness, and she thinks lacquered too, or at least sealed with something that keeps them shining and dry. There are curtains in the windows that the twins must have sewn, and wooden hatches that must flip down to provide protection that glass can’t. Audrey could just imagine Mal insisting on those. The room itself was pretty big, but Audrey could imagine how tight it would get with all five of them up there. A big, overstuffed couch hulked in one corner. A workspace covered in tools and bits of metal sat in another, the walls around it papered with schematics. That had to be Carlos’s. Then there was another corner covered in dusty dried herbs and stoppered glass bottles, a low counter with no accompanying seat, which had to be the twins’ workspace. The final corner contained a kind of camp stove, jerry-rigged with some Carlos contraption that probably made it run on air. There was a refrigerator in this corner, though it was clear it wasn’t hooked up to any kind of power, and a few boxes that Audrey was sure contained food or plates or something like that. Over by the couch, there was a ladder leading up to the second floor – a kind of a loft.

“Can I see?” she asks quietly, and Lydia pauses.

“It’s kind of, um, personal.” Lydia looks hesitant, almost nervous, and Audrey resolves not to press it. “But there’s actually a porch that way-”

“No _way,_ ” Audrey marvels. She figures Lydia wants a few minutes, so she heads in the direction Lydia pointed, now noticing the door set into the wall.

“Careful,” Lydia calls after her. “There’s no railing out there.”

Audrey steps onto the little porch and sighs. It’s beautiful – maybe the first beautiful thing she’s seen on the Island, besides –

Audrey blushes to think it, scolds herself for objectifying people that she’s mistreated, people that are risking everything to protect her, but it’s true– she hadn’t seen anything beautiful on this Island besides the twins.

Shaking that thought from her head, she admires the view. Up here, she’s looking at the trees from halfway up, so she can see their expansive greenery, the way they disappear into infinity. The finished boards beneath her are shiny, deep mahogany brown, and there is no rail, just a flat porch where she can sit and look around.

There’s a wind chime hung up on one of the branches, and she wonders whose addition it was. The thought itself strikes her as distinctly twin-like, but the construction makes her think of Carlos, and the pieces dangling from it may well have been found – or taken – by Jay. There’s a little tin dragon with a bent wing, and incredibly, a glass princess, though she’s missing an arm and a leg. A wooden wolf dangles near a stained enamel sunflower, and a little carved figure of a bird rounds out the fivesome, though Audrey isn’t sure what kind of bird the carving represents. The figures all dangle below the chimes themselves, which are made of broken bells and bits of metal. It rings prettily when wind shakes the branches, and Audrey, for the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours, feels a lump in her throat. Auradon held these kids in exile, for no reason other than their parents, and they came into the woods and tried to make something beautiful. The Audrey of yesterday, who’d masked her fear with condescension and anger, felt like a different person. The things she’d learned in the short few hours since setting foot in Grimhilde’s castle had terraformed her world.

On the second floor of the treehouse, Lydia steps into a flood of natural light. She remembers the fight they’d had about the skylight – a ridiculous excess, Mal had argued, and they wouldn’t even be able to see the sky anyway, for all the branches over their heads. But Jay had seen the wistful look on the others’ faces, and he’d snuck out one day, climbed up in the trees with a saw, and they’d walked into the clearing to find stacks of fresh wood, for planters and an outhouse and –

Jay had been grinning like an idiot. “Guess we can have that skylight now, huh, Mal?”

She had bitched about the danger, but what was done was done. And Mal spent just as much time staring through the skylight as the rest of them. On rare nights when the Island smog cleared, they could see the stars and the moon, and Evie knew all the constellations like the back of her hand. They’d lie in the middle of the floor, all five of them, right under it, and watch for meteors, which Evie said were good luck.

Tearing her gaze away from the skylight, Lydia looks around the room, and sucks in a deep breath. On the ceiling around the skylight, Mal had painted all the constellations, as many in their right places as she could, and the others around the edges, just so maybe one day the rest of them would learn them like Evie. Next to Gemini, she’d written Evie and Lydia’s names, in flowing script. Lupus, the wolf, was Jay, and Corvus, the crow, was Carlos. In Evie’s hand, near Draco, was Mal’s name. She’d refused to put it up herself.

Then there was the time she hadn’t let anyone into the loft for a whole week, and when they came up, the walls were painted, one for each of them.

Lydia still remembers that day. Them all coming up and standing thunderstruck in the middle of the room, staring at the riot of color, Mal with her eyes on her feet, too self-conscious to even speak. Carlos’s was all abstract, done in white and black and red mostly, arching dotted lines and shapes and diagrams, exactly like the kinds he had pinned up everywhere, except the diagrams were of the five of them – plotting their movement in dotted lines, their bodies outlines that fit together like the pieces of a machine. Though Jay spent most of his time in the marketplace, Mal painted him the forest outside – tall trees and river cutting through, birds and deer and wolves chasing each other through the flashes of shadow and light. Lydia had a field of flowers, some beautiful, some secretly deadly, the grass spotted through with the ingredients of their potions. In the sky above the rippling field, the clouds took the shapes of dragons and wolves, princesses and angels and birds. Tracing her fingers over it now, she has to swallow tears. How anyone could have ever thought that Mal was evil…

Lydia still remembers the look on Evie’s face when she saw what Mal had painted for her – a sunset over a just slightly stormy sea. Mal had clearly poured heart and soul into each of her murals, but Lydia knew when she saw it their leader had spent the most time on Evie’s. The colors transitioned from the sea’s rich blues and green, to the almost violent yellow, orange and purple of sunset, to, above that, midnight blue. Imaginary constellations dotted the top of the wall, near the ceiling with all its real constellations. Mal’s constellations had the faintest of lines connecting them, so one could imagine them to be anything, but if you looked for the lines where Mal had dreamed up her own constellations, they were music notes and running horses, fireworks and flowers and a rudimentary diagram of a cell, something Evie had shown her once. Off to the left of the setting sun, there was a shooting star. And in the top right corner, small enough to be missed if you weren’t really looking, was a rough star-sketch of their little house out here. The treehouse. Theirs.

Back on that day, Mal had been so awkward and stiff and clearly uncomfortable with her own gift, but then Evie all but tackled her to the ground, almost sobbing with gratefulness, and the blonde had found her smile. Carlos, Jay, and Evie decided to show Mal just _how_ grateful they were, and Lydia had rolled her eyes and gone off to explore the woods nearby, and when she returned an hour later, they were all passed out on the blankets in various stages of undress. She’d tucked them in and curled up next to Carlos and they’d all spent the night, like they did every once in a while.

It was worth every bit of Grimhilde’s anger the next day. For weeks afterward, Lydia would catch Evie staring into the distance, a faint smile on her lips. “Nothing,” she’d say, shaking her head when Lydia asks. “Just...that’s how she sees me.”

Lydia knew exactly how she felt, then and now. Feeling unaccountably sad, she turns towards the ladder. The others will be arriving soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of fluff in this chapter; I couldn't resist thinking about the kids trying to make a life together on the Island...tell me what you think!


	9. swim and sleep (like a shark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of child abuse

The next day, Carlos wakes up with a vicious headache, but for now he counts himself lucky that he has no broken bones. When he sits up, he does it quickly, taking advantage of momentum. Upright, his vision blacks out for a second, and he waits patiently for his head to clear. When it finally does, he slides himself out of the closer and then stops to breathe. The quick, unforgiving movements hurt so bad he’s panting.

He’s woken up early. In Auradon, he had the option to sleep in, and sometimes he and Jay would lie in bed until noon, reveling in their own laziness, the novelty of having no responsibilities and nothing to do. Back in this familiar, unstable environment, his body remembers different pressures, so when the sun outside rises, he’s up, despite getting only four or five hours of sleep altogether. It wouldn’t be that bad if not for all the bruises.

As carefully as he can, Carlos creeps over Lucia and Cerise without waking them, moving slowly and cautiously, though all his muscles and bruises are screaming. When he stands up, in the closet proper, he sways for a minute, and almost falls. Grabbing onto a coat hung nearby, he hangs on for dear life and waits for the dizziness to pass, or to feel his body fade away from him as he passes out. When he stays upright, and the fog gradually fades from his vision, he resolves to take it slow, at least until he’s had something to eat and drink.

The more he moves, the more he becomes aware of the deep pain in his body. Nothing broken. He holds onto that. Nothing is broken. But it’s almost as bad of a beating as the worst he’s gotten, and his muscles scream for relief. If only he could stop, sit down…

But he can’t. He has work to do and food to find, so he grits his teeth and stumbles out of Hell Hall and into the street. He needs food first. Food will clear his head.

Finding food, as always, is easier said than done. Carlos is awake earlier than most anyone, which means he moves through the street unbothered, but also means he’s left without many options in the way of food. After some aimless wandering, he comes across the picked-over bones of a cooked rat carcass.

Before Auradon, he would have no reason for shame, bending down to pick it up. Now he knows better, knows that Cerise and Lucia would look at him with disgust, if not outright fear of what he’s doing. The good thing about Carlos’s logical mind is that he doesn’t care much. They can be as disgusted as they want. This is food, and it’ll keep Carlos alive.

He picks what little meat is left off the bones, then cracks the bones themselves in half and sucks the marrow out. Feeling better, he continues ranging down the street, prowling for anything that he deems edible.

About an hour later he heads back. For himself he’d found an orange peel and half a potato that someone had thrown away in a remarkable display of excess. His shrunken stomach is more than satisfied with that bounty. Knowing the Auradon kids will probably have to be eased into this whole “eating garbage” thing, he had spent significantly more time finding food for them. He probably should have saved the half of the potato, he now thinks, but there were teeth marks in it, and he had a feeling they would have balked.

Still, all he has to show for his efforts is a mostly empty bag of stale crackers, a handful of peanuts that he painstakingly picked out of the dirt, and two stale bagel halves that he had lifted out of a garbage can near one of the “wealthier” areas of the Isle.

When he gets back to Hell Hall, he takes a moment outside to drink the icy cold water straight from the pump. The chill feels good on his swollen face. Inside, he takes a moment to assess himself in the front hallway. Cruella keeps a full-length mirror there by the door, so she can check her appearance one last time before she goes outside.

Oh, Carlos is not a pretty sight this morning. His lip is split and swollen, and his eye has ripened to a deep black purple color. He has a knot on the back of his head, and his chest, back, arms, and even legs are a constellation of purpling bruises. Drawing a breath deep into his lungs, he feels no twinges, and thinks it’s safe to assume no broken ribs. His legs are working fine, arms too, and he has all his fingers, toes, and teeth. The head injury is not good, he knows that. His best asset is his brain, and if it keeps getting beat to hell like that, he won’t have much going for him. But there’s not much he can do, besides avoid bright light, exercise, and hitting it hard again.

Two of those things he has control over. The third, and most dangerous…well. He’ll just keep cleaning, try not to piss off Cruella. Something of a pointless task, but it’s all he can do. It doesn’t hurt too bad. And the rest of his muscles, now that he’s been moving around, are reluctantly coming back online. It hurts less to move, although any kind of a stretch still steals his breath away.

He leaves the food he’s scrounged for the Auradonians near the corner where they’re sleeping, along with three cups of water, and then he heads to the closet where he keeps his cleaning supplies – the one room in the house that’s pristine, untouched.

He knows he has a good few hours before Cruella wakes up, and when she does, she’ll likely leave him alone as he cleans, but the quiet peace of the morning is still something he treasures. He goes back to the front hall, determined to clean it more deeply, and starts the work from yesterday all over again.

This time, it takes him forty-five minutes, but when he’s done, he’s satisfied that the walls, windows, and floor are actually clean. He hauls the ladder out and cleans where he couldn’t reach yesterday, swiping cobwebs and dust off the ceiling. He cleans the inside and outside of the windows, making sure to clean the grit out of the spiderwebbing cracks on the bottom panel of glass. He leaves vinegar and soap to soak out the worst stains in the carpet and moves on to the hallway.

The hallway cuts the house in two, with rooms coming off it on either side. There’s Cruella’s bedroom, on the end, and her bathroom directly across from it. The entryway across from the sitting room. The kitchen faces off against the dining room. There’s the coat closet, where the Auradonians are sleeping, and the cleaning closet. Neither fear of death nor God could induce Carlos to enter Cruella’s bedroom now, nor does he even want to risk the bathroom. So he starts at the far end of the hallway and slowly works his way forward.

When he comes to the place on the carpet where last night he’d lain bleeding, Carlos pauses. Initially, Cruella had insisted on white carpets in every room, which on its own was enough to convince Carlos that his mother had lost her mind, once he was old enough to understand. Keeping anything white clean on the Island was an impossibility. Nothing could stay untouched out here, nothing could stay that pure. One by one, he’d replaced all the irreparably stained white carpets with Oriental rugs, where stains could be hidden or mistaken among the twisting patterns. As long as the dominant color was red, Cruella eventually forgave him, though each time another one of her precious white rugs disappeared, she’d flown into a violent rage. Black might have garnered a better reaction, but no one purchased black rugs in Auradon, far less threw them away.

So he was left with threadbare Oriental patterns that had been nursed through stains and rips and tears, and now he was confronted with yet another instance of his own blood getting in the way of the endless work of keeping the damn house clean. This was among the only times that blood had been cleaned up by someone else.

Cerise had done a fair job, for someone who had likely never gotten blood out of a carpet in her life. For his part, Carlos took another small sample of his mixture of vinegar and soap, painfully conscious of how low he was on both. Thankfully, Auradonians threw out enough old liquor that vinegar was easy enough to come by, and as long as he didn’t care about mixing different types of soap, there was plenty to be scraped out of bottles discarded as empty. The next time the barge came around, he’d have a lengthy list to scavenge for, he realized as he surveyed the list that Cerise had made. New bowls, new plates, new cups, a new chair for the dining room, because one had been smashed and splintered beyond repair…soap and vinegar for cleaning, new seeds to replace the garden plants that were beyond hope…not to mention food for four – and extra, too, things that could be preserved, for the days that Cruella expected him to feed her, too.

Passing a hand over his face, Carlos barely suppresses a moan. He’d have a hard enough time if he’d had the full assistance of the others, but the twins will doubtless have a backlog of potions and clothes to make for their mother, and Jay will have several months’ worth of wares to produce in just a few days. Mal will be trying to help all of them, and coordinate and provide for the Auradonians too. There’s no way. There’s just no way.

If only Carlos could work out a kind of formula, a sure thing that would tell him exactly how long he could delay each part of the reconstruction of Hell Hall. But the thing about Cruella, one of the worst things about Cruella, is that she’s completely unpredictable in her manic rages. The best he can do is estimate that the twins have the longest time before Grimhilde gets upset over their lapsed chores. Potion making is fiddly, and creating clothing is something that even the Evil Queen understands takes time and care and effort. As long as she deems that they’re spending enough time working on their assigned tasks, the twins won’t necessarily have to produce results. That can be used to the group’s advantage.

Next would be Jay – a few good afternoons of thievery, or a lucky day on the barge, can be stretched out over days, even weeks, to keep Jafar satisfied for a long time, if they play it strategically. A big score here, a few small ones, nothing for a few days, and then something medium…Carlos will plot it all out obsessively, then blame his own miscalculations every time Jay comes back with a bruise. But given some dedicated time, craftiness, and luck, Jay will be able to stave off his father, and focus the majority of his energy on the Auradonians.

Which leaves Carlos. Most vulnerable, in the worst position. At home, he has daily chores, weekly chores, monthly chores, all the big and little things needed to keep Cruella’s dilapidated townhouse going. And all of them have been utterly neglected for months. Not to mention the damage Cruella does when she’s in her rages, actively working against his tidying and organizing and repairing. Worst of all, she has no understanding or care for a realistic timeline of reconstruction. Hopefully, _hopefully,_ he would be spared from her wrath today, and maybe the next few days. With Cruella, though, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t wake up this morning and rage because her home hadn’t been restored to its former glory – if indeed it had ever been glorious. No matter that it was quite literally impossible, Cruella might beat Carlos into oblivion all over again a few hours from now.

His situation, as per usual, was the most fraught, the most unpredictable, the most dangerous, and so usually, he would have the help of all four of the other Island kids. He would’ve complained, and felt like a burden, and tried to get them back to their own work as soon as possible – but he would’ve accepted the help and gotten back on his feet that much faster.

Now, though, everyone’s first priority will be feeding fourteen hungry mouths that probably can’t contribute, at least for the first week, maybe. Finding food for themselves was always a task, and now tacking on everyone else too…

It’s the right thing to do, Carlos knows, and he’s going to do it, just like the rest of them. But it’s going to cost them _dearly._

It would be one thing, he thinks with a sigh, if the Auradonians weren’t so coddled. If he didn’t have to spend extra time finding food that wouldn’t disgust them, guarding them from every villain that saw their softness and tried to take advantage of it, if he could count on them to just handle themselves, not even help, but not require help…

It wasn’t _his_ fault that they’d grown up not having to dodge blows or pick food out of the trash. He doesn’t especially like that he’s suffering because the Auradonians can’t handle the reality of life on the Isle. Sitting back on his heels for a moment, Carlos checks himself. What is he actually upset about? What does he want?

He’s long been the weakest member of their little gang, he knows that. Cruella holds none of the sway of the others’ parents, and Carlos himself is pretty runty. Initially, he fell in with Jay, who inexplicably pulled him out of a beating in the marketplace one day, and since then he’d found protection in exchange for intelligence, and with Jay, well. Maybe some other things, too. Did he resent the Auradonians because they, as the new most vulnerable members of the pack, would require extra protecting, and leave him vulnerable? Or was it because he’d had to work to earn the protection that they were getting automatically?

They were interesting questions, and Carlos regards them logically, from a distance, not caring very much at all how the answers might reflect on him. Either way, he’s going to do the right thing. Denying how he feels about it is only going to make him feel worse.

Around eight thirty, Cerise comes scrambling out of the closet, and visibly relaxes when she sees Carlos on his hands and knees taking care of the carpet. She sags against the wall. “We…we woke up and you were gone,” she murmurs, eyes still wide. “I…I’m sorry, I was just afraid that she’d…done something to you.”

Carlos smiles. “Nah. I’m all right. More chores today, and then at noon we’re going to meet Mal and the others and figure out some next steps.”

At the sound of figuring out next steps, Cerise smiles. “That sounds really good,” she says earnestly.

Carlos nods, then he thinks he’d better bite the bullet. “We’re meeting in the forest – we have a place,” he explains, watching her guardedly as he tries to anticipate her response. “I’m going to recommend that we leave Leo there, and Lucia to look after him.”

Biting her lip, Cerise nods. “I think that’s wise.”

“Really?”

“This house isn’t safe,” Cerise says frankly. “Especially not for Leo. He understands it’s serious, but he’s still little, and he’s going to make some dumb mistakes. That’s going to put all of us in danger, especially you. Lucia should go with him, to take care of him. I…I don’t really want to be separated from them…” she looks torn.

“I just don’t think there will be space,” he tells her frankly. “It’s a…a treehouse, built for the five of us. I’m hoping Ben and Cassia can stay with Mal, and Audrey can stay with the twins…” he scowls, thinking about that. “And I do think the Charmings will be okay with Cressida, although Marigold, maybe less so. But the Arendelle kids can’t stay with Hans. I don’t think he’ll let them. And there are six of them…” He shakes his head. “Worst case scenario, we leave Leo, Lucia, Marigold, Caspian, Finian, and Lizette. That’s six people in a space designed for five. And honestly, we’re used to close quarters. You guys aren’t. I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s room for you.”

He can see that Cerise doesn’t like that answer, but she purses her lips and nods. “That’s smart, I guess,” she agrees reluctantly. “And I do want to help you around here.”

He snorts. “Thanks. I can definitely use it. But I promise that’s not why I’m keeping you here.”

“I know that,” she rolls her eyes and nudges him with one elbow, face turning horrified as he winces. “Shit! I’m so sorry!”

Chuckling, Carlos shakes his head. “It happens all the time. Don’t worry. You eat already?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.”

Turning serious, Carlos gives her a stern look. “You have to eat, Cerise. I know you want Leo and Lucia to eat, but if you don’t feed yourself, you’re not going to be any good to anyone. You’ll get weak and angry and that won’t help anyone.”

Surprised, Cerise finally nods after turning it over in her head a few times. “I’ll…I’ll see if Lucia and Leo left anything.”

“Good. And next time I leave food for you, all of you need to eat some,” Carlos lectures.

“You’re eating too, right?”

“Of course. I’ve been up for hours.”

Cerise’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay. In that case, I’ll see if they left anything for me, and then I’ll be right back.” Carlos must look confused. “You’ve been here for hours. The least I can do is help where I can.”

“Thanks.” Carlos watches her dart back down the hallway and thinks just maybe, he underestimated this particular Auradonian a little bit. She’s back in a matter of minutes, and has no problem working alongside him getting stains out of the carpet. For at least a little while, Carlos thinks it’s safe for Leo and Lucia to be outside in the back garden, so they play quiet games while Carlos and Cerise clean and talk, just as quietly.

Carlos tells Cerise about Island life as honestly as he can without scaring her, and though there are times that Cerise blanches, she takes it pretty well in stride. He tells her about how they’ll have to get food, some major villains they’ll have to look out for, and sketches out roughly what his chores will be each day.

“How the hell can you possibly do _all that?”_ she demands, fascinated by it.

“You’d be surprised,” he tells her grimly.

When Cerise talks, she tells him about her family, and how she misses her moms, and how Lucia should definitely stay away from Cruella because the girl is headstrong, and she has a temper. “She’s just like Mama Merida,” Cerise explains with an eye roll. “I mean, I’m only a little better, but I stop myself sometimes. Lucia…”

“Probably wise to leave her with Leo, then,” Carlos surmises, and Cerise nods, still looking conflicted. It’s hard for her to contemplate leaving her family out in the woods by themselves. Lucia is, after all, only eleven.

Around ten, Carlos starts getting antsy. “If she doesn’t wake up on her own soon, I’ll have to wake her up,” he tells Cerise grimly. “If she wakes up and I’m just gone, she’ll be furious.”

“Won’t she be furious if you wake her?”

“Hopefully less so,” Carlos mutters, but he sure doesn’t sound hopeful.

Luckily for them, Cruella stumbles out of her bedroom around ten thirty on her own. When she sees the two teens on the floor, cleaning, she snorts. “Good,” she pronounces. “If you’re going to live in my house, you at least make yourself useful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cerise intones, without looking up, and Cruella makes a face, but sees herself out the door.

“Well handled,” Carlos tells the redhead, and he means it. Cerise smiles back at him shyly, and they return to the endless scrubbing and dusting and cleaning. Carlos works quickly, all the motions coming back to him as muscle memory that’s as easy as breathing. Cerise is more faltering, but determined, and she doesn’t once complain, even when Carlos hears her stomach audibly rumble. The kids hadn’t left much of their meager breakfast for her, after all.

The kids in question are out in the garden again, where Lucia is trying to make a game out of pulling weeds. Carlos doesn’t expect them to get much work done, but he does tell Lucia in no uncertain terms that if in his haphazard weeding, Leo pulls up necessary plants, that the seven-year-old, and Carlos, will be in big trouble.

Lucia, wide-eyed, had stared at his bruises, and Carlos had to inform her, annoyed, that of course he wasn’t going to let Cruella hurt the kid, far less would Carlos hurt Leo himself. But he’d happily yell at Leander. Kid was seven. That was plenty old enough to do what he’s told.

Looking more than a little put off, Lucia had nodded, and Carlos had left it alone, not particularly caring if she thinks he’s “not very nice.” Carlos isn’t nice. He’s never been nice and starting now isn’t exactly a priority.

Still, Cerise had frowned when she’d seen the look Lucia shot Carlos and pulled her sister aside to have a conversation with her that Carlos didn’t hear. When he next saw Lucia, she was properly cowed, and Carlos absently wondered why Cerise bothered. He didn’t care what the little Auradonian thought of him. But clearly Cerise did.

He herds the group out the door at eleven fifteen, wanting to be on time to the treehouse, and also having a suspicion that they’re going to need some supplies. He tells the three to wait for him in an alley, and then he dives into the market, telling himself if he moves quickly, no one will come upon them while he’s gone.

The whole time he’s searching, he’s on edge, wondering if it would’ve been better to bring them with him, or if that would’ve just been more dangerous. By the time he finds the rope he’s been searching for, he’s sure he’ll return to find the three of them in pieces.

But when he comes back they’re untouched, so he gives a quick nod, not betraying any of his earlier panic, and leads them out of town. Soon, they’re under the cover of the forest, and Carlos feels himself relax. Fewer people means fewer threats, of course.

And, he thinks privately, knowing he’d never say it out loud, he’s finally going home.


	10. very close very close to the bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: mentions and markers of sexual/physical child abuse, mentions of neglect and child labor

When Jay wakes up, the first thing he notices is the hurt. His back and ass ache and sting and burn, and he knows he’ll be a riot of bruises for days to come.

The second thing he notices is that he really has to piss.

Shifting on the table where he’s still stretched out, naked, Jay tries to distract himself with strategic thoughts – when the barge comes in two days’ time, what would he be looking for? Food, for _nineteen_ people, and anything shiny to appease Jafar, and, and, and-

Damn, he really has to piss.

It gets to the point where Jay is desperate for Jafar to return, because if he pisses himself on this table, he’ll…well, Jay doesn’t know what he’ll do, but starting his day with that kind of humiliation is too much to think about. He shifts on the table, wincing as he puts more pressure on his overfull bladder, and shifts it forward as much as he can, shoving his hips against it. Slowly, the table inches forward, and then hits the wall loudly. Now with his feet planted firmly on the ground, Jay hauls on the chain, knowing that it won’t break but needing the horrible screeching sound of rusted metal scraping against more rusted metal. Within minutes, Jafar emerges, storming out of the backroom where he sleeps, already in a foul mood.

“Stupid boy!” he rages, and now Jay focuses all of his energy on not pissing himself when Jafar smacks him, hard, across the back.

“I need to piss,” Jay spits, not wasting any time.

“Well, don’t make a mess on my floor, boy,” Jafar snaps, moving to fetch the keys to the handcuffs to wherever secret place he keeps them. Jay barely takes the time to haul his underwear and jeans up around his hips before he bolts out the door to relieve himself in the alley next door. Shooting a furtive glance down the empty street, he reaches back around to his ass and brushes his fingers across, beneath his hole. His fingers come back with dried blood on them. He’ll have to clean himself up before he sees the others. Although maybe that’s pointless, because there’s nothing to be done about the bruising on his back, and when the others see that, they’d be stupid to think he got away without Jafar sticking his dick in Jay’s ass.

Scowling, Jay zips up his jeans and wishes he had some kind of water or soap to run over himself. He probably won’t have to bother hiding anything from the others, because with the damned Auradonians around –

“Jay!”

Jay nearly jumps out of his skin. He glances around him wildly, finds a face peeking out of an alley across the street, and has to bite his lip to keep from groaning. It’s Chad. Of course, it’s fucking Chad.

With a careful look over his shoulder at the shop, he trots across the street to where Chad, and presumably the rest of his siblings, are waiting. Jafar will be expecting him back in a matter of minutes at the most. He has to make this quick.

Just as he suspected, all six of the Arendelle kids are lined up in the alley, huddling against the walls. They’re lucky it’s early, because it’s only a matter of time until these alleyways start to fill with lowbrow villains looking for easy marks. And the Auradon kids, all the Auradon kids, are nothing if not easy marks.

“Hans kicked us out,” Chad explains, passing a hand over his face. “He pretty much just brought us into his house to insult us and then kick us out.”

“And he made a pass at me,” Lilac puts in, looking disgusted. “He said I looked just like my mom.”

Jay makes a face. “I’m sorry. We’ll, ah, we’ll figure out a place for you all to stay. I’ll be back in just a few minutes. I need to speak with my father.”

“Can we come with you?”

“Absolutely not.” The answer is out of Jay’s mouth before Chad is even done asking the question. “It’s not safe. Just wait out here and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to…” he surveys the ragged group, who look tired, hungry, and scared. “Try to look tough,” he offers, wincing even as he says it, “in case someone comes by.” Jay starts to turn away.

“I know I upset you yesterday,” Chad calls, and Jay stiffens. “But please don’t take that out on my family.”

For a minute, Jay is so frustrated he wants to scream, and he has to stop for a long minute to control himself. “First of all,” he says softly, because he can’t just let it go, “you didn’t upset me. You made your opinion of me, and the people that I care about, quite clear, and I’m glad that at least now, I know where I stand.” Chad opens his mouth, but Jay cuts him off. “I’m not done. I’m not taking anything out on your family, nor would I. It’s not safe for _me_ to be around Jafar, so I doubt you want to risk the little kids. The longer I stay out here, the more trouble I’m in, and the longer it’ll take for me to get back here and take you somewhere safe. I need you to listen to me, and I need you to trust me. Can you do that for a few minutes?”

There’s a flash of incredulity on Chad’s face, but he finally nods curtly. Sighing, Jay turns away, remembering just a second too late that he’s not wearing a shirt, and the bruising from the night before will be out in full. At least there’s no way for them to tell it extends to his ass. If the Auradonians saw that, Jay…Jay doesn’t know what he’d do.

The lurid purple bruises on the brown skin of his back is enough. Right on cue, he hears a series of strangled gasps behind him. Deciding it’s best not to look back, he just keeps walking towards the shop. At least Chad will believe him now, when Jay says it’s not safe for the Auradonians to stay with him.

Just in time, Jay steps through the door, almost running into Jafar, who must’ve been on his way out after his son. “That was the longest piss of your life, boy,” Jafar mutters accusingly, and Jay shrugs, shouldering past his father to the bedroom in the back where he can put on a new shirt. He doesn’t make it three steps before Jafar is grabbing his shoulder. “Just what do you think you’re doing, shoving past me like that?”

“I need to put on a shirt,” he mutters, and Jafar’s lip curls, but he lets go of his son.

In his room in the back, Jay finds everything just how he left it, down to the rumpled sheets from sleeping in his makeshift bed that last night before Auradon. The springs are all broken and he never washes the sheets, but it’s always been comfortable enough for him.

The only other furnishing in the room is a dresser that’s missing a drawer. It’s plenty beat up, too, but it serves Jay’s purposes, which is to hold the meager amount of clothes he owns. For a moment, he bemoans internally the fact that the only shirt he’d been able to bring back from Auradon lies in shreds on the floor, courtesy of Jafar. It’s back to someone else’s threadbare t-shirts, he supposes. He pulls a black one over his head and steps back into the shop.

Immediately, Jafar is back on him, crowding up close and glaring. Instead of shoving his father, Jay takes a step back, hating that he’s the one who’s yielding. “You’ve been gone for months, boy,” Jafar reminds him. “That’s months of no wares from you. I expect you to make up for that lost profit, and quickly.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” mutters Jay, glaring at his father but glancing away too quickly for it to really mean much.

“If you don’t,” Jafar warns, “I may have to come up with… _other_ ways for you to make money.” His eyes drag up and down Jay’s body, long and slow, and he shoots a knowing smirk at his disgusted son.

Mouth drying out, Jay fights the urge to gulp. He’s not going to show that kind of weakness in front of Jafar. “I thought you didn’t like people touching what’s yours,” he reminds his father, feigning calm.

“I believe that’s a lost cause already, given your… _activities_ with the tramps you run around with.” Jafar rolls his eyes. “You’ll always belong to me. If I need to rent you to Mangiafuoco for a few weeks to stay out of poverty…” he shrugs.

Glaring at his father, Jay shakes his head. “I’ll bring you what you need as soon as I can,” he mutters.

“Good,” Jafar purrs, sneering. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

His eyes stay on his son as Jay stalks out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

Almost as soon as he’s out the door, Chad is on him, trotting out of the alleyway to meet him in the street, trailing all of his siblings. Barely able to restrain a growl, Jay walks right past him, waving him after, back into the alley.

“Listen,” Jay starts, cutting off open-mouthed Chad. “Stay out of sight when you can, okay? If people see you, they might target you. Don’t walk out and let the others follow you – keep your more vulnerable people close to you. Be strategic.”

Finally looking a little cowed, Chad checks around him to make sure all the kids are around. “Sorry,” he says quietly, but then he straightens right back up again. “Jay…Jay, those bruises on your back, what happened?”

For a long moment, Jay stares at him, wondering how someone could possibly be so dense. “Jafar beat me,” he explains after a long moment, and consternation overcomes Chad’s face. Sighing, Jay senses another stupid question coming on.

“He can’t…he can’t do that!” splutters Chad.

“Yes, he can.”

“It’s illegal!”

“There are no laws here, Chad,” Jay informs him, fighting to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“No laws?” Briar squeaks.

“I’ll put it this way – which of the villains on this island would you want as a police officer?” Jay asks them drily. He’s staring at what feels like a sea of wide blue eyes. None of them say a word. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“I’m sorry, Jay.” It’s Caspian’s cracking, teenage voice, and Jay softens, looking at his little scared face.

“S’okay, buddy,” Jay waves off his worry. “It’s not that bad. C’mon, let’s get you guys somewhere safe before this market fills up.”

Easier said than done. Jay doesn’t want to take them into the woods yet, because he can’t just leave them there alone, and getting in and out is a hassle that takes close to an hour. The problem is, he can’t think of many places in town that are going to be safe enough for them to stay without him hovering around protecting them. And he can’t hover around and protect them, because he has to start finding merchandise for Jafar, and fast.

“Okay,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay. We need to find a place for you all to stay, if you can’t stay with Hans…” Jay rubs at his brow, thinking. “Lilac, Briar, and Lizette, you can probably go to Hannigan’s-”

“We’re not splitting up,” protests Chad, and Jay idly daydreams about leading the group down to the bay and shoving Chad in. “I’m not leaving my sisters alone in some villain’s house. You’re the one that told us to stick together.”

Nodding, Jay concedes the point. “That’s why there would be three of them,” he tells Chad, feigning patience he doesn’t feel. “Agatha Hannigan runs an orphanage for girls, so the rest of you won’t exactly fit in.”

“We’ll just have to find a place where all six of us can stay,” Chad presses, and Jay has to bite his tongue for a long moment before he answers.

“Easier said than done,” he tells Chad, thus far maintaining his patience. “No villain on the Island is going to be willing to take in six more mouths to feed. Those that care about their children have enough work as is, and those who don’t…you don’t want to stay with people who don’t care about their own children.”

Before Chad can answer, Lilac interrupts, and Jay is so grateful he wants to yell. “Let’s check out this Hannigan place,” she tells her brother. “If there’s a safe place for me, Briar, and Lizette, we should take it. It’d make things easier on all of us, especially Jay.”

Chad casts an irritated look at the Islander in question, and Jay guesses that him having an easier time isn’t exactly Chad’s top priority. “Fine,” he relents after a moment, and Jay starts leading them down the street – not before organizing them first. Lizette by his side, then Finian, Caspian, and Chad on the other side of them. Briar and Lilac walk on Jay’s other side. The Islander notes with some satisfaction the way Chad’s eyes narrow when Briar and Lilac walk with Jay and not their brother.

“Tell us about this Hannigan place,” he says, after a few moments of walking in silence. Jay chooses to ignore the fact that it sounds more like an order than a question.

Shrugging, Jay thinks about what he knows about Hannigan’s. “Currently, she has five girls living with her, between seventeen and five. She takes in abandoned girls, and they work for her in exchange for the shelter.”

“Work for her?” Chad wrinkles his nose, and Jay rolls his eyes.

“Chores,” he explains. “Sometimes she hires them out to anyone else who can afford to have their place cleaned. They’re also in charge of finding their own food and feeding her. She drinks, but she’s not dangerous.”

“Hold on!” Chad sounds incensed. “You want to send my sisters into a home with an alcoholic who doesn’t provide for them?”

“They’ll be safe there,” replies Jay unapologetically. “It’s not like it’s hard work-”

“They’re _princesses,”_ hisses Chad. “They’re not going to be hired out to clean the homes of _villains._ Lizette is only eight!”

“And Shadow is five, and she does it just fine,” Jay replies calmly. “This is the best I can offer them. You don’t have other options.”

“Chad, it’s really not that big of a deal,” argues Lilac, headstrong as always. “A little bit of cleaning won’t kill us.”

“Thank you,” Jay says, at the same time that Chad shouts.

“Absolutely not!”

The blonde teen rounds on Jay. “I refuse to accept that there are no better options for my family.”

Speechless, Jay just stares at him for a few minutes. “Then…I don’t know what to tell you.” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what reason I could possibly have for hiding a safe place from you, or sending you somewhere dangerous on purpose.”

“What about Mal, or the twins, or Carlos?”

Jay blows out a long sigh. “Maleficent and Grimhilde are unpredictable,” he explains wearily. “You’re more than welcome to talk to Mal and the twins, but I doubt they’ll want more of you staying with them. Keeping their mothers happy is a chore on its own. Having seven or eight extra people in the house doesn’t exactly make that easier.”

“What about Carlos?” Chad persists, and this time Jay laughs.

“Cruella is…” he pauses, not wanting to share Carlos’s secrets. “Cruella isn’t well. She’s…Carlos is the most at risk, of all of us, and if you stay with him, you will be too. I doubt he’ll keep Lucia and the boy in the house, even.”

“So where will they stay?”

Now Jay has to tread carefully. “We have a place in the woods…”

“Then we’ll stay there!”

Jay shakes his head. “It’s a shelter designed for five, and even then it’s tight. We won’t be able to make it out there every day, and we can’t bring in enough food to sustain that many people. The fewer people we have to support out there, the better.”

“But that’s our best option!”

“No, I’m telling you, it isn’t,” Jay repeats. “We won’t be able to feed all of you. If the girls stay with Hannigan, we can maybe leave the younger boys in the forest, and you can stay with me. You’ll be separated, but it’ll be safer for all of you.”

“I’ll stay with you?” Chad is incredulous. “After what your father did to you? I’ll take my chances on the street.”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Jay reassures Chad tiredly.

“You can’t even protect yourself,” Chad points out, and Jay resists the urge to growl.

“It will be fine. Look, this is Hannigan’s. The oldest girl right now is Pepper, I think. I’ll talk to her and see if there are beds for you.”

“What kind of a name is Pepper?” grumbles Chad. “ _If_ they have beds for you? He’s lucky we’re even considering-”

“Chad, would you do us all a favor and shut _up?”_ Lilac sounds as exasperated as Jay, and he feels a surge of fondness for the princess.

He raps on the door, and a few minutes later, it cracks open to reveal a suspicious, familiar face. “Daisy?” Jay’s surprised. Last he knew, Pepper was the oldest of Hannigan’s girls, and therefore, the de facto leader.

“Pepper aged out a few months back,” the blonde explains, answering the question Jay hadn’t asked. “What do you want?”

“I’ve got some Auradon girls that need a place to stay,” Jay explains, jerking his head in the direction of the crowd behind him. “Hey. C’mon. Step forward.”

“Three?” Daisy sounds dubious. She examines the group in front of her, and Lilac, Briar, and Lizette look like they’re fighting not to squirm. “You know we got five already. And only the bunkbeds.” The door is still only open a crack. Daisy isn’t offering Jay anything, and he knows from the way she hangs around Frollo’s daughter that flirting won’t do him much good.

“We can sleep on the floor,” offers Lilac. “And share a bed. We haven’t done much cleaning but we can learn. And we won’t cause trouble.”

Tipping her head to the side for a long moment, Daisy considers it. “Hannigan will be pleased,” she admits finally. “Eight girls can clean more homes than five, and it’s not like she worries about feeding us. If they’re quiet and don’t cause trouble, she’ll likely let you stay for a few weeks. How old’s your little one?”

“Lizette is eight,” Briar answers, watching Daisy’s face for a reaction.

The blonde smiles. “Lizette’s a pretty name,” she murmurs. “All right. Lizette can share with Shadow. No one needs to be on the floor if you two don’t mind sharing as well. None of the other girls will give up their beds, that’s for sure. What’re your names?”

“I’m Lilac, and this is Briar.”

Another grin from Daisy. “Hannigan used to like flower names,” she explains. “It’s how I ended up with Daisy.”

“Great,” Jay breaks in, earning an eye roll from the blonde in the doorway. “I’ll come by a little before noon – we have a meeting I’ll need to take them to.”

Now Daisy’s eyes squint into slits. “How long is this meeting, Jay?” she asks suspiciously. “You can’t put ‘em here and then pull them out whenever and expect us to house ‘em. Hannigan doesn’t like freeloaders.”

“Just today,” Jay promises. “Meeting with Mal.”

“Mal?” Daisy still sounds suspicious. “What does Mal want with…them?” She waves an illustrative hand.

“They’re under her protection.”

“They’re _all_ under her protection?” Daisy looks stunned. “All of them?”

“All the Auradonians.”

” _All_ the Auradonians? Don’t you think Mal might be stretching herself…a little thin?” Daisy tips her head.

“I’ll be sure to mention that to her at our meeting,” retorts Jay, voice and eyes icy. Now Daisy looks uneasy.

“It was just an observation.”

“An observation I’ll be sure to share.”

“Fine,” Daisy acquiesces hurriedly. “Fine. You can take them to your meeting this afternoon. Just don’t make it a habit.”

“I’ll try not to,” Jay says easily, and she scowls at him. He grins in return, and she rolls her eyes.

“Come on, then,” she waves the girls forward, sounding resigned. “There’s work to do.”

When the door shuts behind them, Jay turns to the remaining three, who look diminished without their sisters beside them. “Okay. Stick with me. I have some work to do before we head into the forest.”

The little crew moves out together, but Jay can feel Chad’s anger only building behind him. For now, he chooses to ignore it. There’s not much he can do to fix it, anyway, and he doesn’t think the Auradonian is dangerous. He doesn’t think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chad is BACK and more annoying than ever! Welcome to yet another OC but she's a side character we don't really need to keep track of her. And I know that Miss Hannigan (orphanage director from Annie) is not technically a Disney villain but I needed an orphanage director and she fit the bill so oh well.


	11. this heavy humanness

When Mal arrives at the treehouse, she has Ben, Cassia, Leander, Stellan, and Marigold in tow, and she’s still beaten both of the boys. Rolling her eyes, she walks up to the treehouse, noting that the ladder is down and the trapdoor is unlocked. Uncomfortable, she wonders how much the twins have shown Audrey. It’s doubtless the twins and Audrey, because Carlos has little Leo, and Jay is always, always late.

“Evie!” she calls up to the treehouse. “Lydia! Audrey! Come down!” Not only does she not really want the Auradonians to see their private space but trying to fit that many people in a treehouse that was tight for five would be a real pain in the ass.

Minutes later, Lydia is climbing down, followed by Audrey. Mal waits a few moments, but her heart is sinking even before she asks the question. “Evie?”

“Grimhilde kept her back,” admits Lydia with a grimace. Mal scowls.

“You told her I wanted her?”

“Yeah,” Lydia looks uncomfortable. “She was…she was mad.”

There’s worry squirming in Mal’s stomach, but she doesn’t have time for that right now. “How’s Audrey been?”

At the sound of her voice, Audrey’s head comes up, and she narrows her eyes, not liking that they’re talking about her as if she’s not there. But she keeps her mouth shut, and Mal is pleasantly surprised. She must’ve learned something, in the past twenty-four hours.

“Oh, she’s been good,” Lydia assures her, smiling at Audrey as if to confirm. “We’ve been just fine. Grimhilde isn’t going to hurt her at all. But…”

“But?” Mal prompts.

“Just, I definitely don’t think anyone else should come home with us,” Lydia forces out, swallowing.

Frowning, Mal really wishes she had more time to interrogate Lydia. But she just doesn’t, so instead she nods curtly and turns to the Charmings. “How is staying with Cressida?”

“I like her!” declares Marigold. “She’s nice.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Mal turns to Leander. “Anything to add?”

“She’s a sweet kid,” Leander agrees. “Um…her family is kind of weird.” He scratches his head, unsure how to put it. “Her moms and her grandma…um, they keep trying to like, set up her and Stellan...”

Mal winces. “Yeah, that sounds like the Tremaines,” she mutters frankly. “I’m surprised they’re not trying to bed you, too.”

Now Leander goes bright red. “Well, uh…”

Mal groans. “You’re kidding.”

“Um…no,” Leander hedges nervously. “They, um…they’ve made some weird comments. I’m just trying to ignore it.”

“Ugh,” Mal squeezes her eyes shut. “Do you think you’re safe there?”

“Oh, definitely,” Leander answers immediately. “They’re really nice to us. They’re pretty good to Cressy, too…but it’s weird.” He scratches his head. “Sometimes they’re really hard on her. I think she’s confused.”

“She’s definitely confused,” Mal agrees, sighing. “That family can’t decide if they want another little heiress or a slave.”

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Leander nods. “Yeah, we noticed that. Is there…do you think there’s anything we can do for her? Cuz they won’t let us help with anything, and it’s weird having that tiny little girl doing so much work.”

Mal shrugs. “You’ve spent more time with Cressy now than I have. Try to help, but don’t get too broken up about it if you can’t. If the Tremaines are bothering you, or you don’t feel safe there, you tell us, understand?”

“Of course,” Leander agrees solemnly. “How, um, how are you guys?” He’s looking past Mal, at Ben and Cassia, Audrey and Lydia. “How’s Maleficent? And Grimhilde?”

“Grimhilde is awful,” Audrey pipes up, but after exchanging a look with Lydia, she seems unwilling to continue. “She’s just…she’s crazy.”

“Maleficent is scary,” Cassia puts in quietly. “She didn’t do anything she just has this…presence. Like she knows she could hurt you if she wanted.” Remembering Mal is listening, Cassia goes red. “Sorry, Mal.”

“Nothing I don’t know,” quips Mal tartly. “Where in the hell are the boys? They’re taking forever.”

“Well, it’s a pretty treacherous route, and Carlos has Leo,” Lydia reminds her, always the first to think the best of everyone. “And Jay has six Auradonians, and Lizette is pretty young too. They might be having a hard time with the ravine.”

“The ravine is scary,” agrees Marigold importantly. “You should build a bridge.”

“No,” Mal tells her flatly.

“Why not?”

“Because the point of the ravine is to keep people from coming here,” Mal mutters, reminding herself not to roll her eyes. Marigold is only ten, after all.

“Who do you want to keep out?”

“Dangerous people. Bad people.”

“Who’s bad and dangerous?”

“A lot of Islanders, Marigold.”

“Well, why don’t you leave?”

Leander winces. “Mary-”

Instead of getting angry, Mal laughs. “Trust me, kid, I want to.”

It’s about then that Carlos stumbles out of the forest, looking much the worse for wear, and all conversation is forgotten. Mal stays rooted to the spot as Lydia darts forward, grabbing Carlos, face in her hands, looking him over. Reddening, he makes a show of brushing her off, but Mal knows that’s for the Auradonians’ benefit, and she feels a flash of frustration. They can’t even take care of each other properly, with these kids around.

Carlos promises Lydia that he’s fine, but he’s limping pretty bad, and his face is torn up as bad as they’ve ever seen. He has a black eye, a split lip, and Mal is sure a lump or two somewhere on his head. Lydia is distraught over not having a potion to offer him, to soothe his pain or at least help with the swelling. The Auradonians are horrified, crowding around him and offering, well, nothing, because they have nothing useful to do or say.

Leonidas definitely can’t stay in Hell Hall, Mal thinks, frustrated. Selfish as it may be, she’ll admit that she doesn’t want Lucia and Leo in the treehouse. It’s _their_ place, their only secret, the only thing that is private and special and theirs. She decides right then and there that they’ll pull up the ladder to the second floor and lock it, and she doesn’t care if the Auradonians call them selfish. Their secret special hideaway has been exposed enough. She refuses to let them see the paintings, the messy bedding, the skylight they all stared through. Lydia can hide the more suspect ingredients up there, and the recipes that would make the Auradon kids pale. The potions that could turn a man mad, or lovestruck, or homicidally angry. The concoctions that would make one speak truth against their will, or be unable to stand for days, or blind them. All the potions that kept her and Evie from having Carlos or Jay’s kids, a dozen times over. Carlos’s defenses that were designed to maim and not kill, because what’s the point, when the barrier prevented it anyway?

There was plenty that the Auradon kids would never understand. That was what they would lock upstairs. And fuck those kids if they call them selfish for doing it, Mal thinks viciously, feeling only a little guilty as she sees little Leo horsing around the base of the tree.

“How is it?” Mal asks Carlos, and he shrugs.

“The beating was…it was bad,” he answers honestly, the only way he can be with Mal. “It was, um…it was hard to get over here.” Mal tries hard to swallow the lump in her throat as she looks at him – his dark eyes scattering away from hers, afraid to look her in the eye because Cruella has reminded him once again that from weakness comes pain. He licks his lips, clears his throat. “And, um, I think it’s safest for Leo and Lucia to stay here. I’d, um, I’d put Leo at the top of the list. Of people at risk.”

“You’re at the top of the list,” Mal mutters, unable to stop herself.

Flashing a quick grin, Carlos shakes his head. “I don’t count.”

“Don’t fucking say that,” Mal snaps, more irritated than she realized. She softens her voice when she sees him tense. “Don’t fucking say that, dumbass,” she repeats gently, pressing her hand to his cheek. “I…”

“I know,” he says softly, pushing into her hand for just a second. “I know.”

Around them, the Auradon kids are eagerly comparing their experiences, marveling in horror at the nightmare world they’ve ended up in. “Carlos,” Mal says, surveying the crowd, “I want you to go upstairs in the treehouse, and put everything you don’t want these kids to see up on the second floor. Lydia, when he’s done, you hide your things, and Evie’s. Anything private. Put it up there and we’ll lock it.”

“That doesn’t leave very much space for the people that have to stay here,” Lydia ventures cautiously.

“I don’t care,” Mal admits. Lydia flashes a smile.

“Good. Me neither.”

“Fine with me,” agrees Carlos, who turns to scale the rope ladder. It’s a slow process, way too slow given his usual dexterity. Carlos is masking it well – he’s so used to living with pain – but he’s hurt, badly.

After Carlos has hidden his items, and Lydia hers and Evie’s, Mal is starting to get impatient. Where the fuck is Jay? Almost forty-five minutes late, he arrives, the long string of Arendelle kids behind him, and Chad in particular looks absolutely furious.

“What the fuck are you making us do?” he demands, storming up to Mal, who is so shocked that for a moment she just blinks at him. “That river? That ravine? Are you _trying_ to get us killed?” He’s practically spitting in her face.

Coolly, she looks him up and down, keeping her gaze icy. “We are _trying_ to keep you safe,” she counters, tossing her hair. “And you look fine to me.”

“This is unbelievable,” he spits. “Unbelievable. Lizette was terrified!” The little girl does look frightened. “I don’t know how in the hell Leo made it across.”

“I made a harness for him,” shrugs Carlos.

“Good,” puts in Jay, swaggering up to them with his usual, easy smile. “We can use it for Lizette on the way back.”

“Way back? I’d assumed she’d stay here,” Mal is doubtful, but if Jay has found a secure situation for Lizette, of course they’ll take it.

“I checked in at Hannigan’s. They’ll take Lilac, Briar, and Lizette,” explains Jay, and the adoring smile Lydia shoots him has him ducking his head.

“Really good work, Jay,” Mal says quietly, and means it. Some tension relaxes from his shoulders, tension that Mal hadn’t even realized he was holding there. Something is bothering Jay, she realizes with a frown.

It soon makes itself apparent. Chad is difficult – no, impossible, all afternoon. Without him, the conversation would have gone perfectly smoothly. They would leave Leo, Lucia, Finian, and Caspian at the treehouse. Each day, one of the five Islanders would visit, bringing food and supplies, principally bedding, and checking on the young group. Lilac, Briar, and Lizette would stay at Hannigan’s, and one of the five would check on them every day there. Chad would stay with Jay. The Charmings would stay at the Tremaines, and, of course, one of the five would check in on them daily. Given that there are only four staying at the treehouse, Carlos offers that maybe Cerise should stay too, but she surprises him by shaking her head resolutely. “No, I’ll stay with you. You shouldn’t have to clean that house and manage that woman all on your own.”

Shocked, and definitely grateful, Carlos smiles at her, and Cerise duck her head. Mal’s quite pleased with how they’re getting on. Ben and Cassia aren’t really a bother at all, and even Audrey seems to have learned some big, valuable lesson in the past day – which Mal tries not to think about too hard, because especially in light of Evie’s absence, the thought of what so thoroughly shook Audrey out of herself is more than a little scary.

In short, they’re all doing just fine, though hungry and shook up and still a little scared.

All of them, that is, except for Chad.

The former tourney captain is having an impossible time with the fact that he isn’t in charge of anything anymore. He challenges every word out of the Islander’s mouths, and only the Islanders. The Auradonians, of course, don’t notice, but for Mal, it’s impossible to miss. And it doesn’t stop. And it’s making her want to kill him.

He wants to know why his whole family can’t stay at the treehouse. He wants to know why all of the Auradonians can’t stay at the treehouse. He doesn’t want his sisters cleaning house for villains; he claims it’s beneath them. He doesn’t want his brothers staying out here without him; it isn’t safe. He doesn’t want to stay with Jay and Jafar, because if Jay can’t even protect himself from his father, how is Chad supposed to be safe?

At this last question, Mal cuts her eyes to Jay, and he shakes his head, tiny, telling her not to ask. Refuted, she glares at Chad so witheringly that he pauses in his tirade just a little bit, to squirm where he sits on the forest floor.

All too soon, of course, he’s back at it. How often will they eat? That’s not often enough. The kids out here will have to use an outhouse? That’s undignified. What’s their plan for getting out of here, anyway? What’s their plan for defeating Vlasta?

Mal outright laughs at that, and he scowls at her with all the indignant rage of the spoiled little boy he is.

Despite all of Chad’s complaints and interruptions, which continue to the point that even Ben, mild-mannered, even-tempered Ben, looks ready to tear his hair out, they reach understandings across the board. After they’re done talking in one big, exhausting group, Mal drags Jay over to the side.

“What’s up?”

He plays dumb. “What do you mean?”

“Jay, I don’t have time for games.” His jaw works, and Mal glances around quickly. “C’mon. Come up here, just for a minute.”

Looking so grateful it scares Mal a little, he follows her up the ladder to the treehouse. Once there, he lets out a gust of a sigh that must be all the air in his lungs. Mal flops down on the couch and waves him over. “Come here,” she says softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jay lies down on the couch, basically on top of Mal, and buries his face in her neck. She moves her hand over his back, rubbing gently, and Jay shakes his head. “I fucking hate him,” he murmurs into her skin, her collarbone. “I can’t stand him.”

“Jay, are you talking about Jafar or Chad?”

“Both!” he almost wails it. “Both. But, but Chad, he…I know he’s being an asshole, and he’s scared or whatever but he makes me feel so fucking small. I hate it. I…” he swallows. “He…it’s only getting worse. I don’t know what I’m going to do, with him living with me.”

“I’m sorry, Jay,” Mal murmurs into his hair, throat tightening around the words. “I’m sorry, baby, I wish there was something we could do…differently.”

At the sound of the pet name, Jay makes a sound in his throat and presses against her. “I just…Jafar beat me last night, bad, and he…” Mal’s arm seizes tighter around Jay’s shoulders, and he welcomes the feeling, even as she presses on the bruises that stain his back. “I, if Chad sees that, if he knows what’s going on, I…”

“Shhh,” Mal soothes him, still rubbing a hand over his back. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay, honey. Even for an Islander, Jafar is sick, and he knows it. He won’t let Chad see anything other than beatings, because if he did, people wouldn’t respect him. They’d come for him.” She knows the practicality of the point will appeal to him.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Mal,” Jay murmurs.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m eighteen. And strong enough.”

“What…what does that matter?”

“People aren’t going to look at me like a victim anymore, if they ever did,” he breathes, and she stiffens under him, but he goes on. “They’ll think that I should be able to fight him off. I _should_ be able to fight him off. They’re going to think I’m sick, too.”

The undercurrent to his words is obvious, his fear that he’s as disgusting as his father. Pulling his hair back, Mal makes him look up at her, meet her eyes. “Jay. No.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Mal-”

“I said no,” Mal says again, softly this time. She brushes his hair back. “You’re not like that, Jay. You’re better than that. I think I would know.”

He mumbles indistinctly into her hair, and she strokes his back a little longer. “Okay, honey,” she says softly, after another minute. “Okay, we need to get back down there. Jay, do you have anything in here you don’t want the Auradonians to see?”

Scowling, Jay shakes his head. “I don’t want them to see any of it.”

“I know, baby,” murmurs Mal, running her fingers through his long hair. “But if there’s anything you need to hide, you put it upstairs. Then we’re going to put the ladder up there, and you’re going to lock it with Carlos’s combo. Okay?”

There’s deep relief on Jay’s face upon hearing that. “Okay,” he agrees. “Okay. Thanks, Mal. I’m…I’m sorry I’m so…” he makes a waving motion with his hand. “You know.”

“I don’t know,” Mal says calmly. “You’re sorry you’re…what?”

He groans. “Don’t make me say it.”

“If you have something to say, you better tell me.”

Jay whines like a kid when Mal says that. He keeps his face buried in her hair when he opens his mouth again. “I’m sorry I’m being so…soft. I’m being weak.”

“Jay, you are not,” Mal says shortly, “and I think I’d know. You don’t say shit like that, got it?” He grumbles, and she yanks on his hair. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

“You’re mine, and you’re doing just fine.”

“Thank you,” Jay murmurs, and Mal nods.

“Now go get the place ready.”

He does.


	12. it feels so scary getting old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings for this chapter!

Since the communications were read, things have been tense, to say the least. After Belle had smoothed things over with the group, there had been a large conversation about what actions they could take, before couples started splitting off to discuss privately. Belle is certain that despite her efforts, the newfound cruelty of their royalty is certainly a part of these discussions. Retreating from the bars, Belle stands and regards her husband, who is sitting on one of the little army cots, his head in his hands.

He hasn’t worn his hair long since his early twenties, but even now, close-shaven and steely-haired, Belle can picture the ferocious young man who defended her from Gaston, from the entire village. Adam’s muscles still bulge out of his arms and legs. His face is lined now, but it is familiar to her, will always be familiar to her. The revelations about Yen Sid had been distressing. She isn’t a monster. She feels for those people, for their helpless children. But she can’t hold it against Adam, seeing him laid low like this. After what they have been through together – death, and transformation, and ruling a kingdom – after all that, he will never be a stranger to her.

Going to him, she lays a hand on his shoulder, and he let out a sigh. Taking it as permission, Belle sits down beside her husband. “Talk to me,” she urges softly, and Adam lets out another sigh, this time big enough to stir the dust on the other side of the cell.

“It…at the time…” he shrugs helplessly. “The council had all these high-minded ideas about how we couldn’t just prop up their economy. We thought they’d…they’d have to be able to support themselves, so they wouldn’t be a drain on Auradon.”

“But the violence…the children.”

“We didn’t know what to do about the kids,” he admits, scrubbing his hands across his face. “We couldn’t take them away from their parents – we thought that would be inhumane – but to leave them there…There were earlier communications, asking Yen Sid to evaluate which children should be removed and which would be better off with their parents. They replied that none of the parents were in circumstances to care for their children, and the idea of reforming the entire Island…we just couldn’t do it.”

“Adam. I think you should have.”

“I know,” he says, with another gusty sigh. “We…we pretended it wasn’t as bad as it was. We wanted to believe we’d done the right thing. The nation was still finding its feet. We had more than enough fires to put out right here. Reforming the Isle it just, it was too much to think about. Keeping Auradon safe, at the cost of the discomfort of those who had threatened it…it didn’t seem like such a bad price.”

“But Adam, the kids.”

“I know, I know!” He growls. “The damn kids. But once we’d decided not to take them right away, we couldn’t very well bring them into Auradon later on.”

Belle frowns. “Why not?”

“They were raised by villains, Belle. It wouldn’t be safe.”

Belle’s mouth drops open. “Adam. You’re still talking about children. Teenagers, maybe, but still young.”

“Still.” Adam shakes his head. “I wasn’t happy with Ben’s proclamation. It was asking for trouble, bringing four villains over here.”

“They aren’t villains!” protests Belle hotly. “They’re teenagers. And they don’t deserve to be punished for their parent’s crimes.”

Sighing, Adam shakes his head. “By the time they’re that age, they’ve done things our kids wouldn’t even dream of,” he tells Belle. “It may not be their fault, but I believe that by the time they get to that age…well, I don’t know if we can trust them.”

“Adam!”

“Belle, I have a kingdom to look out for.”

“The first four-”

“The first four attempted to overthrow our kingdom and steal Fairy Godmother’s wand,” Adam reminds his wife icily.

“But they stopped,” Belle reminds Adam desperately, and wonders when she started to lose this argument. “They, they realized that it was wrong, and they’ve been model citizens ever since. Once they were off the Island-”

“They improved,” Adam says, and Belle nods. “Given the opportunity, after some _serious_ infractions, _four_ of the villain kids improved. But we don’t know that all of them will. We don’t know how long it will take. We don’t even have a plan for where they stay when they aren’t in school. They’re so far behind, and Fairy Godmother says they’re definitely traumatized…getting all the kids off the Island would be an operation-”

“Still worth it.”

“What about the ones that are criminals? The ones that became criminals to survive? Do we pardon all their crimes?”

“They’re kids, Adam. Kids molded by their circumstances. I remember…”

“You remember what?” his voice is impatient, and Belle loses her cool head for a second and snaps right back.

“I remember an angry, brutal boy who was shaped by circumstances of his own,” she reminds him, eyes narrowed. “I remember he was punished, and harshly, for what his upbringing made him into. And all the people he loved were punished too. But that boy was given a second chance. And it saved him.”

Adam shakes his head. “I earned my second chance.”

“You did. But it was part of the agreement all along. She put it into your curse. She said you would be free _if._ There’s no if for the Islanders, nor their children.”

“I refused an old woman shelter in a storm. I didn’t attempt to kill anyone or take over a kingdom.”

“Neither did those children.”

Groaning, Adam buries his face in his hands. “Belle, please,” he asks tiredly. “I don’t want to talk about it any longer. Can’t we talk about something else?”

“No,” Belle refuses steadily. “Because right now, those kids are the only ones taking care of our kids. Mal is supposed to be taking care of Ben and Cassia. After we abandoned her for fifteen years, we now have to count on her to take care of what’s most precious to us.” Belle smiles a bitter smile. “There’s some dramatic irony to that.”

“I understand that you’re worried about the kids,” Adam says quietly. “I am, too. I know it’s hard to think about. But I am having this same argument with everyone else in this damn dungeon. I can’t have it with you, too. I don’t have the answers, Belle. I just don’t have any better answers for you.”

Belle holds out for a moment longer. It’s the right thing to do, grilling her husband. For all the innocent kids suffering out there, she should hold her ground. And yet. And yet it’s her husband, a man she loves as much as one person can love another, looking to her pleadingly. “All right,” Belle agrees, though she knows she shouldn’t.

“It’s just…” Adam scowls. “None of the rest wanted them either. Arendelle, Agrabah, Maldonia, Atlantica…they were all too happy to ship us their villains and wash their hands of it. No aid came from them, no overseeing committees. Maybe we didn’t do the best job we could’ve, but no one else even tried!”

“I know,” Belle puts an arm around Adam’s waist. “Oh, Adam, I know.”

He leans into her. “We thought it’d be more humane than prison,” he says softly. “Certainly more humane than death. They could live out their natural lives free to move outdoors, or in their own homes, just far away from anyone that they could harm. We thought they’d…they’d be civil enough to live alongside each other. So many of them had been allies, or at least seemed to understand each other. We never thought they’d have children…”

“I know,” Belle says quietly. “And it was easy for all of us to just…ignore. At least until now. Until Vlasta.”

“Who is this woman?” mutters Adam, shaking his head. “No one had ever heard of Vlasta, and suddenly she’s in the capital, with hundreds of soldiers, and she’s taken captive almost every head of state, _and_ their heirs…what does she want? If she wants to rule Auradon, why not send _us_ to the Isle of the Lost? Why just our children?”

“I don’t know, Adam,” Belle is so weary of this conversation, suddenly. She’s tired of not having any answers, tired of being afraid and unsure, tired of trading back the same phrases with everyone in this dungeon.

“We’ll get them back, Belle,” Adam tells her, sensing her sudden, overwhelming exhaustion. “Vlasta won’t last.”

“I know,” Belle murmurs, leaning into her husband. He’s right. He is. She doesn’t believe that this will last longer than a few weeks. The kingdoms that escaped – Atlantis, Olympus – they won’t stand for this. It’s an affront, and it’s a threat.

But two or three weeks is a long time to be separated from one’s children. To have one’s children at the mercy of villains that her very own husband exiled from society, banished to the edge of the world to survive on garbage and magic that kept them from dying. When the villains were sent to the Island, they were deemed too dangerous for Auradon society, or indeed, any of the modern kingdoms. How much more dangerous are they now, after years of deprivation and infighting and slow-burning resentment? Why had they _ever_ thought the Isle of the Lost was a good idea, or even a humane one?

The questions torment Belle as she lies down on the army cot and tries to sleep. Every time she closes her eyes, her children’s faces appear in her mind. Their perfect, trusting faces, the way Ben still says he loves her every time he leaves the house. Cassia’s easy smile and the way she teases her father until he can’t help bellowing with laughter when he’s supposed to be working. It’s not a question of _if_ they come back, it’s what will have changed when they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this week, but writing is going well + quickly so I think I'll have another chapter for y'all by Monday or Tuesday :)


	13. never too late to be who you might've been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of child abuse, sexual abuse, verbal abuse, and neglect
> 
> This chapter's going up a little early! There will be another on Friday but I finished this one and thought I could try two in a week :) Hope you enjoy!

When Lydia and Audrey get back to the castle, Evie greets them alongside Grimhilde, and Lydia almost collapses with the relief. She wants to rush forward and grab her twin, hold her tight, but instead she offers her mother and sister a tight smile. “Hello.”

“So you’ve finally decided to return?”

“Yes, Mother, sorry we were gone so long,” Lydia says softly, waiting with her head down for Grimhilde to allow them entrance.

After a long minute, Grimhilde relents. “Is that a new stain on your shorts?” she asks sharply as Lydia slides past her.

“Oh, I…I hadn’t noticed, Mother.”

A huge, dramatic sigh from Grimhilde as Audrey slips by. “ _Please_ try to take better care of your clothes. People notice the way you present yourself, Lydia, and if you present yourself as a dirty slob, they will treat you as such.”

“Yes, Mother. Of course, Mother.” Lydia keeps her head down. She’s edged over to stand next to Evie, and once she’s next to Evie, she grabs her sister’s hand. Both the twins release just a little tension from their shoulders at the contact.

“How did she behave herself, hmm?” Grimhilde asks, turning to Audrey.

Rolling her eyes, Audrey shrugs. “I don’t know. It was boring,” she mutters, and she just barely catches the lightning quick glance Lydia shoots at Evie. She trusts their twin telepathy and keeps up her spoiled brat act. “We just, like, met Mal and the others and talked to them and the other Auradonians. I so wasn’t paying attention.”

“Why not, dear?”

“It so doesn’t matter,” Audrey snorts. “They’re all just Island kids. What can they possibly plan that will have any impact on my life?”

“Smart girl!” praises Grimhilde, ushering Audrey in front of her. “Come to the kitchen, you must be starving. Evie and I just finished making lunch.”

It must have been torture, making food and not being able to eat any of it, but Evie keeps a smile on her face as she serves Grimhilde and then Audrey bowls of soup with stale bread. Soup is one of the safest foods on the Island – as long as you can find clean water, and something to flavor it with, it doesn’t matter if what you’re working with is just a little old. And there’s nothing better for softening bread that’s gone hard and tired.

“Run along now, girls,” Grimhilde dismisses the twins imperiously, once Evie is done waiting on them. “You have work to do. Patterns, potions. I’ll send Audrey up to you room when we’re done chatting.”

Once the twins are gone, Grimhilde leans across the table on her elbows. “Now, tell me, what are your impressions of the Island? Tell me about your afternoon.”

Knowing she’s in dangerous territory, Audrey gives herself a moment to respond. Pretending to think, she tears off a chunk of bread and dunks it in her soup, then takes her time chewing. “I mean, it’s dirty,” she says, with an affected wrinkle of her nose. “I’m glad I’m at least still living in a castle that’s clean.”

Grimhilde beams. On Audrey goes, every sentence a careful balancing act between being the snotty spoiled brat, and commending Grimhilde and her home. “I don’t really like Mal,” she rolls her eyes, knowing this, at least, is safe territory. “She thinks she’s all that and she’s just an Island kid with no powers.”

“That’s what I keep telling my girls,” Grimhilde agrees emphatically. “If Evie’s going to bed a ruler, it should be someone that _means_ something.”

“I mean, that’s the smart thing to do.”

“Exactly! Evie never has been the smartest…”

And on it goes.

High above them, in the tower, Lydia and Evie are holding each other, and it’s hard to tell which twin is shaking. “Oh god,” Lydia says softly, mournfully. “Oh god, you were down there for so long. Evie, Evie, are you okay?”

The tears she’d been holding back since her mother retrieved her from the dungeon are finally flowing. “I’m all right,” Evie sniffs. “I hate it down there. I hate it so much.” She shudders, a full body affair. “No prisoners this time. No rats, or none that bothered me. When Mother pulled me out I was such a wreck she had to smack me to calm me down, but that’s all, really.” She offers Lydia a watery smile. “Not so bad.”

Lydia makes a pained face, and Evie sighs. “So – Audrey?” she asks, completely changing the subject. Lydia brightens.

“She’s…she’s good. She…after what she saw, she turned around so fast. She’s on our side, and wants to help, and she’s been actually pretty kind. She, um, she’s doing the whole brat act around Grimhilde so she can pretend to report on us, so Grimhilde won’t spy or start her wild accusations. Maybe keep us a bit safer.”

Impressed, Evie nods. “Good for her,” she murmurs. “Good for us. And, um…what she saw…?” she’s not sure how to ask it, but thankfully Lydia knows the question without Evie having to draw a picture.

“She was freaked out,” Lydia says with a shrug. “Really freaked out. I tried to answer her questions, explain…but…yeah. She’s pretty scared of Grimhilde. Felt awful about what she said about us. I, uh, I told her not to tell the others.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a moment of quiet. The two girls are sitting next to each other on the bed now, mirror images staring straight ahead, lost in thought. “I still wish she hadn’t seen that,” Evie finally says, with a gust of a sigh.

“Yeah, me too.”

Swallowing, Evie nods reluctantly, clearly still thinking about it. Inwardly, Lydia groans. Of the two of them, Evie has always been more sensitive, especially to Grimhilde’s criticism. Oh, Lydia feels it plenty strong – an insidious current of criticism that eats away at her, all the time. But with Evie it always just seems somehow worse.

There’s a moment of quiet between the two, and then, thank god, Evie breaks it. “Tell me about the meeting. Tell me about the others,” she says suddenly, bouncing up as she remembers. “How is everyone?”

At that, Lydia winces. “Well…Mal is good,” she starts with the good news, the easy news. “Ben and Cassia are old enough to behave themselves with Maleficent, and so far she’s been pretty unbothered about the whole thing, according to Mal.”

“I’m sure she’s got some kind of scheme planned,” mutters Evie darkly, and Lydia can’t help but agree. Maleficent _always_ has some kind of scheme planned.

“Um, so the Charming kids are doing well with the Tremaines,” Lydia continues, “although apparently Anastasia and Drizella won’t leave poor Leander alone.”

“Oh _god,”_ Evie snorts. “They’re his mother’s age.”

“A little older, remember? They’re his step-aunts, too!”

“God, ew.”

“I know. And all of them are trying to set up the younger one, Steven or something, with Cressida.”

Evie winces. “Cressy is tiny. She looks seven years old if she looks a day.”

“I know. And she’s only ten, anyway. It’s not like the boy is interested. He’s gotta be what, fourteen?”

“Not exactly a match made in Heaven.”

“Not so much, no. The youngest girl is getting along really well with Cressy, though. They’re about the same age.”

“Aw, good for them.” Evie smiles. “It’ll be good for Cressy to have a friend. She gets shoved around in school, doesn’t she?”

Lydia winces. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a pushover. Just little, you know, and no older siblings looking out for her.”

“That is too bad,” Evie agrees with a touch of impatience. “What about the others, though? What about Carlos, and Jay?”

Sighing, Lydia rubs a hand across her face. “Well…”

“What is it?” Evie demands. “What’s wrong?”

“Cruella beat the shit out of Carlos,” Lydia says softly, and it isn’t a surprise, but Evie still gulps hard. “He’s…it’s bad. Black eye, split lip, he was limping…”

“Oh, poor Carlos,” Evie murmurs, distressed almost to the point of tears. “God, I fucking hate that woman.”

“I know,” agrees Lydia fervently. “Leo and Lucia – the little Scots – are staying at the treehouse. The oldest one, Cerise, she’s staying with Carlos. Wants to help him out around the house as much as she can.”

That makes Evie smile again. “Good. I’m glad Carlos has someone with him, even if she’ll be something of a liability. The Scots are tough, too, aren’t they?”

“She certainly has some fire,” Lydia smiles at the memory of Cerise’s bullheaded interjections at their meeting. The flame-haired teen didn’t speak up all that often – she was perfectly willing to listen to Mal on most things – but when she did dig her heels in, it seemed like nothing in the world could move her.

“Jay?”

Another long sigh from Lydia. “He’s…well, I’m sure Jafar got to him.” She starts with the worst news, hating to see Evie’s face fall the way it does. “He’s also pretty shook up by the tourney captain, Chad?”

“Fucking Chad. He’s being his tourney captain douchebag self?”

“Yep, the whole deal. A real piece of work. Loud, annoying, unbelievably entitled, scared, so he’s acting worse all around-”

“Definitely has a tiny penis,” interjects Audrey drily from her place in the doorway, and the twins laugh.

“Good to see you,” Lydia greets her. “How was Grimhilde?”

Rolling her eyes, Audrey shrugs. “She just wanted to hear how much I love being in the castle, and what the meeting was about. I just told her I didn’t pay attention because I think Mal is annoying and self-important. She went for that.”

“Nice.” Lydia nods. There’s an awkward pause.

“Um, Evie?” Audrey’s voice is small, tentative.

“Yeah?”

“I’m, um, I’m really so sorry about yesterday. I…I was just a huge brat, and I definitely didn’t realize what you guys go through, but also that’s still no excuse for acting the way I did. I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.”

Touched by her apology, Evie shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she says gently, and means it. “You didn’t know. And we’re fine now.”

“Are you okay? After, um, after being in the dungeon?”

Now Evie’s smile looks forced. “Of course. I’m fine. Let’s, um…Lydia, we should at least get started on some of our work.”

“Right, yeah,” Lydia agrees. They start with Lydia on potions and Evie on sewing. It’s what each of them is better at, although they’re both expert enough to trade whenever their current task gets boring. Audrey can’t help much, and there’s only so much dense reading that she can do, so when she starts getting antsy, Lydia asks her sheepishly to shake out their dusty clothes. It’s not an interesting task, but it keeps her busy.

At first, conversation is awkward and stilted. Usually, Evie would talk more about her time in the Hole, or the girls would go over the work they did with Grimhilde, assessing her anger and her criticisms. With Audrey here, they don’t want to talk about any of that, so there’s a lot of awkward silence. Even talking about the other Islanders is impossible – Audrey hearing about Cruella, or Jay’s misery, feels like a betrayal.

They finally hit on a common subject when they start talking about the Auradonians. Lydia starts it off awkwardly, clumsily, wanting Evie to connect with Audrey the way she has. She can see the two are still looking at each other warily.

“So, um, has Chad always been like that?” Lydia winces at how random it is, how awkward, but Audrey brightens.

“Well, he’s the crown prince of Arendelle, because Queen Elsa has no heirs of her own, and relinquished the title anyway, so she could be protectorate of the Northuldra,” she explains, snapping another shirt out the window, so the dust doesn’t scatter around the room. Exchanging glances, Evie and Lydia try to process all that information – Audrey relays it as casual fact, but they have no context for the comments, no understanding of recent history. Oblivious to their confusion, Audrey continues her explanation. “Arendelle is a pretty big kingdom, and they’ve always been kind of…” she bites her lip, wondering how to explain it.

“They’re pretty secretive, right?” asks Evie tentatively. “The histories we have here don’t cover anything after the incident with the Northuldra.”

“Yeah! Yeah. They’re, ah, a little touchy about the whole Northuldra thing.”

“They committed genocide,” mumbles Evie, not sure yet how Audrey will react to that assertion. “No wonder they’re touchy.”

“That’s not even the worst of it.” Audrey shakes her head. “They forced the Northuldra to the edge of the land, and then staged an attack by the natives, to justify walling them off in the forest and depriving them of their powers.”

“Shit,” Evie mutters, shaking her head. “And they’re public about that? How…how did Queen Elsa become protectorate?”

“Our parents’ generation are the first ones that have tried to reckon with it head on. Queen Elsa and Queen Anna uncovered their grandfather’s treachery, and they’ve been working on reparations, but it’s a sensitive subject. There are a lot of people in Arendelle who feel that the past should be left in the past, and that they aren’t responsible for their ancestor’s crimes.”

“I’m guessing Chad is one of those,” remarks Lydia drily.

Shrugging, Audrey shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t think he worried much about those politics. He only ever talked about it as a problem his aunt had solved or was solving. Arendelle has a lot of faith in its ability to survive on its own. They’re very above it all, don’t need anyone, after the borders were closed for so long.”

“The borders were closed?” Evie’s brow knits. “When? Why?”

“I guess if your history books only go up to the original Northuldra incident, they wouldn’t cover that,” Audrey says hesitantly. “Queen Elsa was born with magic powers, related to her Northuldra blood. Her parents closed the borders after an incident in which she accidentally injured Queen Anna. They tightened travel restrictions, and then the king and queen died in a shipwreck, and the country closed itself off entirely from outsiders.”

“Wow,” mutters Evie, shaking her head. “That’s…that’s extreme.”

“Yeah,” agrees Audrey. “When the country reopened again, a few weeks after the coronation of Queen Elsa, they came out of it with a bit of a superiority complex. It’s also a defense against the fact that they missed a lot of innovation when they were essentially hibernating. They’d always been behind the curve, and the shutdown put them way behind. Their national defense against that was a whole lot of ego.”

“All of which somehow became concentrated in Chad,” quips Lydia, and all three laugh.

“He’s not that bad,” Audrey adds, finally, feeling a little guilty. “He came across as a real dick today, but he’s scared, and he’s really serious about protecting his family.”

“Of course,” agrees Lydia. “And I think he and Jay are butting heads, probably because Chad doesn’t like Jay being in charge.”

“Chad is…very used to being in charge,” shrugs Audrey. “Especially because he just turned eighteen, he’s been given a lot more responsibility lately, in preparation for him to take the throne. He probably feels like he should still be able to make all the decisions and do a good job of it.”

“Lilac and Briar at least are a lot more helpful,” Lydia says, and Audrey nods.

“They’re good people, it’s just a crazy situation,” she murmurs.

“For all of us,” Evie agrees with a sigh. “I just hope Vlasta doesn’t send more outsiders over before she’s overthrown.”

“ _More?”_ Audrey sounds horrified. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“If they’re continuing on their whole royal kick, I think it’ll be Sultan Jasmine and Sultana Aladdin’s, next,” offers Evie.

Wincing, Lydia shakes her head. “I hope not,” she mutters, biting her lip. “Jay would…that’d be impossible, for him.”

“They’d send Fairy Godmother’s kid, too, her daughter,” Evie lists, and the other two reluctantly agree. It’s the tactical thing to do. “And all the foreign royals – the heirs to Corona, Maldonia, Atlantica, Agrabah.”

“Actually, if I were Vlasta,” Lydia begins thoughtfully, and then sees the look Audrey is giving her. “Calm down, I’m just trying to think about it tactically. If I were her, I’d send Mulan and Li Shang’s, or other Auradonians. The more foreigners she sends over, the more countries are angry with her and have a vested interest in attacking her and helping Auradon. If those countries are focused on getting their royals out, rather than outright taking her down, she could buy herself some time.”

“Interesting,” Evie muses. “While they’re in Auradon proper, their countries can try to arrange exchanges or something, but once they’re on the Island, armed engagement is pretty much absolutely necessary.”

“W-why is that?” Audrey asks, fearful.

“Well, for one, imprisoning nobles is one thing, but sending them to the Island…it’s a declaration of war,” shrugs Evie. “Countries can understand the kidnapping of their leaders; it’s almost expected in a conflict like this. But sending the heirs, vulnerable kids, to a penal colony of their own creation, where they’re in direct danger…that’s an insult. It demands a strong response. Not to mention the fact that there’s no way a covert rescue operation would succeed, given the security measures in place to keep the Island secure.”

“That makes sense,” agrees Audrey softly. “So…so why would Vlasta imprison the Arendelle kids _and_ the DunBroch heirs in the first group?”

“See, that doesn’t make sense to me either,” mumbles Evie, frown lines appearing on her forehead. “You, Ben, Cassia, sure, that makes sense. The crown prince and princess, paired with the most powerful creature on the Island, that makes sense. You’re the heir to another incredibly powerful family…but see, they could’ve sent Snow White’s kids to live with us. They’re definitely a powerful family, and Grimhilde is the parents’ direct rival. It just…I don’t understand it.”

“And the Arendelle and DunBroch kids _really_ don’t make sense,” adds Lydia. “DunBroch is _not_ a powerful kingdom – it’s tiny. Not much to have angry with you, but it’ll scare all the internationals. Merida is famously short-tempered – Vlasta’s asking for a fight. The Arendelle navy is formidable, and they have the Northuldra magic on their side…”

“It’s just not strategic,” Evie shakes her head. “Even sending kids here at all – it’s a secure place to keep people, sure, but…why? A well-defended dungeon would be safe enough that it would make sense, and it wouldn’t put anyone at risk.”

“It’s like she’s trying to make a point, but I don’t know what that could possibly be,” says Lydia after a moment. “It’s like she wants…revenge.”

“Revenge?” Audrey tips her head. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Female villains mostly act out of desire for power, sex, or revenge.”

“How do you figure?” asks Audrey, mystified.

Lydia and Evie exchange a look and laugh. “Look where we are,” Evie says gently. “Look at any of the stories around us. Of the villains here, the women ended up on the Island because they sought to steal power from a king, like our mother, because they sought a man who didn’t them, like the Tremaines, or because they wanted revenge.”

“Like Maleficent,” Lydia puts in.

“Exactly,” agrees Evie. “So, Vlasta clearly isn’t interested in someone, because there’s no king or queen she’s trying to claim. She has all the power she could want – but she didn’t stop there. She didn’t stop with ruling Auradon and imprisoning all the nobles and leaders. She separated them from their kids, and then sent the kids into a dangerous Island colony that’s intended to imprison the most dangerous members of your society. It’s not only putting the kids at risk, but it’s an insult to them and their parents. That seems like revenge to me.”

“I believe it,” agrees Lydia. “But revenge for what?”

“What could any Auradonians possibly have done to her?” Audrey wrinkles her nose. “No one had ever heard of her.”

“There’s something we’re missing.” Evie shakes her head. “There has to be. An incredibly powerful witch shows up out of nowhere, accompanied by hundreds of soldiers, just in time to capture just about every world leader and their children? It’s too well-timed. Too well-executed. There’s…there’s something going on that we’re missing.”

For a long, uneasy moment they all sit with that. “Honestly, it’s freaking me out to talk about it,” admits Audrey in a small voice.

“Sorry,” Evie shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Um, so what…what are you guys making, anyway?”

Brightening, Evie holds up the fabric she’s working on. “Mother wants another embroidered ball gown,” she says, with a shake of her head. “The fabric isn’t great quality…and it won’t be useful for anything, out here. But they are beautiful to make.”

Admiringly, Audrey nods, fascinated by Evie’s tiny, perfect stitches. “What about you?” she asks Lydia. “What are the potions for?”

The twins exchange a look. “Well…” Lydia begins awkwardly. “Mother…she trades birth control potions around the Island.”

“Oh,” Audrey says stupidly, surprised. She wasn’t sure if she’d been expecting something more nefarious, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting birth control.

“Yeah – people aren’t exactly throwing away usable birth control, and the magic rule about murder extends to fetuses, for some reason,” mumbles Lydia. “So – we always have whatever we need because Mother is one of the only people that knows how to prevent pregnancy. Usually, we have a pretty good supply, but Mother ran through a lot of it while we were gone, so she wants us to restock the supplies.”

“Oh. Wow. So you drink that,” she points to one of the little glass jars on Lydia’s desk, which is now full of dark green liquid, “and you don’t get pregnant?”

“Yep,” Lydia agrees. “It works for twenty-four hours.”

“And there’s, ah…there’s a big market for that?”

The twins exchange a look. “Huge.”

“Do people, um…do people date on the Island? Is anyone married?”

Evie has to swallow a laugh. She knows it’ll make Audrey self-conscious. “No, I don’t think there’s a single married couple on the entire Island. But people…” she sighs. Might as well just say it. “People fuck, Audrey. All the time. And they don’t want kids.”

“I mean, yeah, that makes sense,” agrees Audrey, bobbing her head awkwardly. Evie swallows another sigh. The girl is nice – she’s learned a big lesson since arriving on the Island, and all things considered, she’s doing well, given the culture shock. But if something like a little fucking is going to throw her off, she has a lot left to learn.


	14. we stood together in other, ancient times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of neglect, starvation, past child abuse

When Leo hugs Cerise goodbye, it’s clear that he doesn’t understand that he may not see his sister for days. It’s a quick, disinterested squeeze, and then he’s racing after Stellan, because the older boy is a welcome novelty after so much time spent with his sisters. Lucia gets it more, and there are a few tears as she hugs her sister goodbye. Mostly, though, she tries to stay stoic, feeling responsible for Leo now. Cerise doesn’t let a single tear slip until they’re heading off through the woods, and ahead of him, Carlos sees her swiping at her eyes.

He never used to think about having siblings, but since his time in Auradon, he’s been wondering. Out of their little Island group, they’re all only children save for Evie and Lyd. Mal’s a loner, and Jay makes enough friends everywhere he goes. Carlos would classify himself as a loner, too, so growing up by himself didn’t really bother him.

But sometimes he wondered. Especially now, seeing the way that the Auradonian kids looked out for their families automatically, unreservedly. What would it have been like, growing up with an ally? Would it have made life with Cruella easier? If the kid was younger, definitely not. Carlos would be the one expected to take blows for it, and it would spend the first few years of its life badly behaved, and it would be unpredictable, besides. Other people were always unpredictable, and the last thing Carlos needed in his life was more variables.

Maybe Cruella would have had a favorite, like Grimhilde. Oh, the twins never talked about it, but anyone could see the old witch was harder on Evie than on Lydia. For a while, Carlos had entertained the admittedly unlikely theory that Evie was just more sensitive – but she was absent from their gatherings more frequently, was starved more frequently, and whatever mysterious pain Grimhilde inflicted on the pair, Evie had it worse. Even Lydia and Evelyn themselves had to see it by now. Carlos wonders if they ever talk about it. Evie’s too good to be resentful, but Lydia certainly feels bad about her good luck.

See, if he had siblings, one of them might be Cruella’s favorite, and Carlos is not above being resentful. Or if he was the favorite, he might just take advantage, and not look out for the other, and that would make him a pretty shit person.

Lost in thought, Carlos almost runs into Jay’s back when they reach the ravine. Finally feeling useful, he steps forward with the makeshift harness he’d tied together for Leo and helps Lizette into it. He can hear Chad questioning its reliability in the background, but he ignores it, even as he feels Jay start to bristle. Carlos understands why Chad is pissing Jay off, but he himself couldn’t care less what some Auradon tourney captain thinks of his work. It will hold, Carlos knows it will, and that’s all that matters.

As he waits for those ahead of him to cross the ravine, Carlos turns over his thoughts in his head. Why is he thinking about siblings? Having Cerise in the house will be the closest thing he’s ever had to having a sister. That’s likely why, more so than watching little Leander plant a sloppy kiss on his sister’s cheek. If having a sister was exactly like having Cerise around, Carlos has to admit he wouldn’t mind all that much. She’s helpful, if frustratingly vulnerable. And she’s helpless right now, but she’s quick to learn. He feels much better off, at any rate, than Jay, who looks ready to kill Chad, or even Lydia. She’s holding up admirably with Audrey, who Carlos still doesn’t trust.

Yes, he got pretty lucky with the redhead crowd, when he thinks about it. He likes Cerise. And Lucia and Leo will look after each other in the woods. Things have worked out rather well, he tells himself, disregarding the ache in his ribs every time he breathes, and the shooting pain in his left knee that has him favoring the leg. So things could be better. But they could also certainly be worse, so Carlos doesn’t let it bother him much.

At the edge of the woods, they split, going off separately and in shifts, so anyone who happens to be watching doesn’t see them exit all together. It’s a little paranoid, but Mal insists, and especially with all these Auradon kids, Carlos thinks it’s wise. After all, if he weren’t so invested in protecting them, he would likely be one of the watchers, lurking on the sidelines, ready to rip off one of the clueless newcomers.

Not that they’d brought anything from Auradon. Probably it wouldn’t be worth it, Carlos concludes. Of course, the other Islanders wouldn’t know that, and so he had better stay vigilant with Cerise around.

They’re back on the outskirts of town now, and without even thinking about it, Carlos’s body language shifts. Even with the backing of the others, he doesn’t have the authority to swagger through town, so he moves slower, keeps his arms in close to his body, keeps his eyes on the ground, and even hunches his shoulders a little to look smaller. It’s all automatic, muscle memory after living here for so long. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Cerise bumps into him.

“Sorry,” she says, flustered. “You slowed down.”

Carlos shoots her a smile but doesn’t speak. He prefers not to, nine times out of ten. If you don’t talk, you can’t say the wrong thing. He hopes Cerise gets used to it soon. At the very least, she doesn’t seem to take offense when he keeps his lips sealed and just keeps walking.

When they get back to Hell Hall and Cruella is nowhere to be found, Carlos lets out an audible sigh of relief, the first sound he’s made since leaving the forest. “What does she do all day?” asks Cerise quietly, as the two of them peek into her bedroom to examine the mess.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Carlos replies, shrugging. “I know she drinks. Sometimes she sees men – sometimes she even brings them back.” He shudders. “For a while she was almost…friends, with Ursula, although mostly all they did was sit around and complain.”

“You don’t ever ask her what she does all day?”

Carlos snorts. “I don’t ever start conversations with her, if I can help it.”

“Oh.” Cerise looks stunned at the thought – no relationship with his mother at all, except for her rages and the beatings. And, of course, the never ending, impossible list of chores she left sitting on the counter, scratched out in her frenetic hand.

For his part, Carlos remains unbothered, even though he sees Cerise’s face go soft and hurt on his behalf. None of his gang have good relationships with their parents, and they talk plenty. In fact, he’s certain if the other three could choose between speaking to their parents and none, they’d happily take the silence that Cruella offers Carlos.

So he shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me,” he tells Cerise, even though it’s just the kind of unnecessary comment he usually hates. “Anyway – we should get to work.”

“Of course,” Cerise agrees readily. “What’s next?”

Carlos outlines a quick, risky plan. “Cruella doesn’t usually come back in the middle of the day if she’s already left. If you can stay here and wash her bedding, I’m going to try and replace some of the things she broke while I was gone. If you hear her coming back, hide. She won’t look for you or anything, but if she sees you, I don’t know what she’ll do.”

Gulping, Cerise nods. “O-okay. So, um, just the bedding, then, in the tub out back? And if Cruella comes home-”

“Hide,” finishes Carlos grimly. “I won’t be gone long – I’ll look around quickly, see about some of the dishware and maybe the smaller furniture pieces. Soap, vinegar, things like that. We’ll have better luck on Wednesday when the barges come.”

“All right.” Cerise hesitates, and Carlos waits for her question. “How…how are you going to pay for things? Or, um, trade for them, I guess?”

It was a half-decent save, and Cerise is still adjusting to Island life, so Carlos does her the courtesy of not rolling his eyes. “Usually, Evie or Lydia might help me out with a few spare potions to trade, or Jay might help me steal. Right now they’re busy, so I’m pretty much relying on luck, and being able to salvage something usable from other people’s garbage.”

Frowning, Cerise shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Carlos.”

“Hey, that’s Island life,” he points out. “We salvage from your garbage, each other’s garbage…everything here is pretty much garbage.” He says it lightly, but Cerise winces. “It’s really fine. I’m going to go – should be back in an hour or less. If you finish with the bedding, wash the curtains next, would you?”

“Yep,” Cerise agrees, her voice sounding far more chipper than her face looks. He turns to go. “Carlos?”

“Yeah?”

“Be safe.”

He blinks, then grins at her. “Of course. You too.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

For a moment Carlos is touched, although a little confused. As soon as he steps out the door, however, he has no time for that, no time or head space for anything that isn’t analyzing the situation around him. Are the men on the corner dangerous-drunk, or just day-drunk? He slips by them without a problem, so it must be the latter. Is that mirror on the counter cracked, or utterly destroyed? It could serve to replace the painting that Cruella tore open with a fork.

Coming closer, Carlos sees that the mirror in question is broken to the point that it will probably shatter if he touches it. He’s on the fence, still. It’s a nice frame. He decides if he passes it on his way back, and it’s still there, he’ll take it.

Continuing his meandering path toward the center of the marketplace, Carlos is pleasantly surprised by the amount of luck he has. Perhaps the other Islanders were distracted by the arrival of the Auradonians, or perhaps last week was a particularly good one for the garbage barge. Either way, there’s far more worthy items left on the street than Carlos would expect, for two days before a barge visit. Into the bag go three chipped glasses, a plate that’s cracked in half but can be glued, and a little statuette of a castle that some child has painted in garish, smeary colors. Carlos has half a can of black paint in his closet storeroom. If he dunks this in and lets it dry, the craft will be a decent paperweight, or just something to put up on the mantle.

Normally, Carlos wouldn’t pick it up, but he’s desperate to replace all the little trinkets that have been lost or destroyed. Usually, he tries to pick up things that aren’t easily smashed by Cruella. This type of ceramic will shatter into vicious splinters once it hits something, but Carlos is a little desperate, so he scoops it up and hopes that when she does decide to break it, it explodes against a wall, and not Carlos’s skin. The little daggers of ceramic are murder to dig out.

He’s also keeping an eye out for food, but there, Carlos has had less luck.

On his way back, the mirror is still there, so Carlos grabs it, adding to the collection he’s carrying with him, in a tattered canvas sack. At one point it was a reusable grocery bag, but now it has a tear in the side, so Carlos stitched it quickly and uses it to bring his findings with him. Maybe he’ll ask Mal to paint something in the frame. Some boring mountain scene, or a castle. Anything that would look normal on the mantlepiece at Hell Hall. Knowing Mal, she’d paint in something stupid to amuse herself – a figure in the background, or flames somewhere hidden, or, if she was feeling particularly juvenile, a dick. Cruella wouldn’t notice. She’d never spend enough time looking at the bland art that Carlos hung on the walls. No, she only bothered to notice when something was wrong, or missing, and she was angry about it.

But today was a good day. He had found several pieces he was looking for, and on his way back he came upon a few apples that had gone half-soft and mealy. The broken remains of a stale bag of chips and a block of cheese with mold on the cut end rounded out the meal, and Carlos hoped absentmindedly that Cerise can bring herself to eat, even though it wasn’t anything fit for a princess – a crown princess, no less.

There was something to think about. One day, Cerise would rule all of DunBroch, and here she was staying in Carlos’s closet in Hell Hall. They never called her Crown Princess – they never really called any of them Prince or Princess or Duchess or Duke, but she was no less royal than Ben. Carlos would have to ask Evie or Lydia about the particulars. Their mother always _insisted_ they stay up to date on outside politics – as up to date as it was possible to be, on the Island.

When Carlos gets back, he’s relieved to see Cruella hasn’t come home. Cerise is still in the back garden, washing more of Cruella’s things. Her flame-red hair looks almost on fire in the setting sun. She smiles when she sees Carlos back, unharmed. Straightening, she waves him over. “Do you want me to wash your clothes?” she asks cheerfully. “I was thinking of cleaning mine anyway.”

“Sure,” Carlos agrees with a shrug. He won’t mention now that in the past, he’s gone almost a week without washing his clothes. He strips off his shirt and tosses it to Cerise, who dunks it in the soapy tub of water. She hesitates.

“Do you mind, um…” her face twists uncomfortably. “Do you mind if I borrow a shirt or something? I, um, my clothes are pretty-”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Carlos waves a hand. “Let me grab you something.”

He returns with a pair of ripped jeans – not artfully distressed, but torn open down the side, and stitched back together by Evie. The shirt is faded red, with a big black stain on the side. Stopping before he steps outside, he grabs another pair of pants for himself, noting as he does that he only has three pairs, total. He’d never paid attention to that before.

Shirtless, Carlos walks into the backyard, and is immediately conscious of Cerise staring at his skinny chest. He knows she’s staring at the lurid bright bruises that cover him, and he sighs. “It really doesn’t bother me,” he says, handing her the clean clothes he grabbed for her.

“That almost makes it worse.” She shakes her head, sending fire-bright curls bouncing everywhere. “That you’re so used to it.”

Not knowing what to say, Carlos shrugs. “It’s really not a big deal. Go ahead and get changed. I’ll start the washing.”

He likes that Cerise doesn’t try to argue with him, though he sees her blue eyes narrow. When she reemerges, he cracks a grin.

They’re just about the exact same height, though he hadn’t noticed it before. Cerise’s pile of curls always made her seem taller. The pants fit her well, and the shirt too, though it’s tighter around the shoulders. Obviously, Cerise has tits and he doesn’t, Carlos notes clinically, but he thinks she also has broader shoulders than he does.

She sees him sizing her up and grins. “We’re about the same, yeah?” her Scottish brogue seems stronger, but maybe it’s because she’s wearing his clothes, and is unfamiliar all over again. Stepping around him, she dunks her clothes into the cold water, and he notices as she does that her hands are red and chapped. Wincing, he remembers how much wash she did yesterday, while he swept through the house. Now she’s been out here scrubbing more, in chilly water. Carlos knows from experience that when her hands dry, they’ll be chapped, and if she keeps this up, they’ll bleed.

So when she tries to plunge her hands into the water next to him, he shakes his head. “Take a break,” he tells her. “I brought us some, uh, dinner. It’s not much, but it’s in the bag there.” Cerise doesn’t move, and Carlos rolls his eyes. “Eat. Really.”

“And just let you do all the work?” Cerise’s hands are on her hips and she’s giving him a look that says this time, she won’t back down easy.

“Just let me do the washing. You’ve been working on it for ages already, and your hands are ready to crack.”

Looking down at her hands, Cerise shrugs. “So they’ll crack,” she says defiantly. “You’ve been out doing things. Wasn’t like you were just taking a break.”

“It isn’t your house, Cerise. Don’t worry about it.”

“These are my clothes you’re washing.”

“You’ve helped plenty the past day.”

“I’m not letting you do it all yourself.”

“Why not?”

Glaring, Cerise huffs. “Because that’s not _fair.”_ Her hands go to her hips. “And don’t you tell me life isn’t fair, because I _know that._ But that doesn’t mean I have to be a part of it.”

There’s nothing for Carlos to do but laugh. “Wow, princess,” he says teasingly. “Okay. How about this – if your hands are bleeding all over the place, that’s just more for me to clean up. So have something to eat, and there will be more work to do when you’re done.”

Hesitating, Cerise looks torn.

“Come on,” Carlos gives her a look. “I know you haven’t eaten almost anything all day. Just take a break for a second.”

Relenting, Cerise divides the food he’s brought into two neat piles, though she frowns at the green spots on the cheese. “There’s a knife in the kitchen,” Carlos tells her distractedly. “Just cut those parts off and cut it in two.”

“I’m pretty sure with soft foods if it’s moldy anywhere, it’s moldy all the way through,” Cerise argues.

“Well, if you cut the mold off, you can pretend it’s not,” Carlos replies, unbothered, and she rolls her eyes. But she goes into the kitchen, and when she comes back, the cheese is in slices, which she again divides in two.

By now, Carlos is done scrubbing their clothes, so he drapes them over the crowded line that Cerise has been using. It’s so full of bedding and clothes that it’s sagging almost low enough to let the washing touch the ground, so Carlos runs his hand along the hanging items, looking for things that can be put away. Then, of course, he gets distracted pulling them down and folding them, and he forgets about Cerise and food until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

Startled, he nearly jumps out of his skin, relaxing only when he turns around and sees it’s just Cerise. “Stop for a second,” she tells him. “Eat.”

For a moment, Carlos hesitates. But he’s hungry, and the washing can wait a bit. It’s just starting to get dark, and Cruella won’t be home for a few more hours if she’s already stayed out this late. He can pause for a moment and eat with Cerise.

They talk about the work they’ve done and the work they have yet to do, and Carlos teases Cerise gently about her stubbornness. She explains that given her mother’s headstrong, fiery nature, they’ve all spent plenty of time learning how to govern themselves.

“I think we’re actually calmer than a lot of people,” Cerise explains, chewing on a piece of apple. “Because we have so much practice not getting angry.”

Biting back a smirk, Carlos shrugs. “I don’t know if I’d say that…”

Wrinkling her nose, Cerise sticks out her tongue at him, and Carlos laughs. By the time they’re done eating and talking, it’s too dark for Carlos to make out the freckles on Cerise’s face, just a few feet away. The two of them smile at each other in the dark, as they move through the hanging fabric to put everything away.


	15. get me back on my own two feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: fighting

As they make their way back to town, Jay can tell that the others are thrown by leaving Caspian and Finn behind. Even Chad stays quiet for a little while – a precious little while.

He starts up again when they reach the ravine, and Carlos is tying Lizette into the makeshift harness he’d made for Leo. “There is no way that’s going to hold her,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re going to get her killed.”

“It’ll work,” Carlos says simply, ignoring the protestations.

“It _won’t,_ and you clearly don’t care about her safety,” Chad shoots back, stepping forward. With one hand, Jay blocks him.

“Carlos knows what he’s doing,” he explains quietly, keeping a tight grip on his emotions. “He works a lot with machines and engineering – he built the mechanisms that make the rope swing work. If he says it will hold, it’ll hold.”

“And if it doesn’t, it’s Lizette’s life!”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Jay asks Allah for strength. “Look,” he tries, “coming across, it was me holding her and the rope. This is _surely_ safer than that.”

Opening his mouth to argue, Chad’s eyes go huge as he looks at something over Jay’s shoulder. Jay spins just in time to see Carlos sending Lizette across the ravine. Of course, she makes it just fine, and Mal, who’s already on the other side, catches her and sends the rope back to them. Jay expects that to be the end of it.

Instead, he’s almost knocked off his feet when Chad tries to plow past him. Instinctively, he flings an arm out, the only thing that keeps Chad from hurtling straight into Carlos. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roars.

Jay can see that the shouting is making Carlos antsy, not to mention the fact that Chad’s halfway to tackling the smaller boy. “What do you think _you’re_ doing?” Jay demands, out of breath from straining to hold Chad back.

“He threw my sister across that ditch!”

“She was in a harness, and she was fine.” Jay shoves Chad off and shakes his head, disbelieving. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with _me?”_ There’s a vein bulging on Chad’s forehead and his fists are clenched. Positioning himself firmly between Chad and Carlos, Jay stares him down and waits, every nerve alive. After what seems like an eternity, the Auradonian turns away, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t do shit like that without asking me, understand?”

“Sure,” Carlos says, although Jay can tell from his voice that Carlos doesn’t give a shit what Chad says. He sends Cerise across, and Jay waits, on pins and needles, for Carlos, and then Lilac and Briar to swing across.

Finally, he and Chad are the only ones left on this side of the ravine. Before Chad can swing across, Jay grabs his arm. “Look,” Jay says in an undertone, “I know you’re scared, and angry, and nervous. But you can’t charge at Carlos like that.”

Jay is trying to be understanding. He’s trying to be good. The Auradonian is acting like an ass but he’s clearly scared for himself and his family. He doesn’t understand what that kind of yelling and posturing does to Carlos.

Another long, hostile moment passes between the two young men. Fighting to keep his face open and friendly, Jay keeps his hand on Chad’s arm as he waits for a response. After what feels like an age, Chad shakes him off.

“I’ll do what I think I need to do to protect my family,” Chad informs him, his voice icy cold and threatening. Before Jay can respond, Chad swings across the gap.

When the rope swings back, Jay takes a minute to breath before he follows. That heartbeat when he thought Chad would genuinely throw himself at Carlos – it makes Jay’s heart race just thinking about it. He doesn’t care how bad it makes him look. If Chad threatens Carlos, Jay will fight him. He’ll stop him. Or, he’ll try to stop him. Jay tries not to think about how he’ll match up against the taller, potentially stronger tourney captain.

It doesn’t matter. If someone threatens his family, he’ll fight like he always has, regardless of who’s the new toughest thing on this Island.

He’s spent enough time calming down. He swings across, and then hooks the rope on the other side. He doesn’t understand Carlos’s invention, and how it ensures that the rope can reach whatever side they need it to. Then again, he doesn’t really need to understand it. He just needs to trust Carlos, and that’s never been a problem.

While Lilac, Briar, and Lizette walk with them, Jay savors the quiet. There are a few questions from the girls, but mostly all is peaceful. He just knows that’s going to end as soon as it’s him and Chad. By the time he’d swung across to meet them, he strongly suspected Lilac, Briar, or both had had strong words with their older brother, because he sulks the whole walk through the forest, mouth drawn in an exaggerated frown. Mal casts a few sharp glances Jay’s way, but he keeps an easy smile on his face, and with so many people around, there are no openings this time for her to pull him off to the side and make him talk.

The conversation in the treehouse had soothed him so effectively – Mal always knew exactly which buttons to push. And, like her opposite, Chad had pushed all the wrong ones, leaving Jay anxious and angry and feeling small, all over again, in the space of a few hours. He has no idea how he’s supposed to live with Chad for the next day, far less the next few days, or, Allah forbid, the next few weeks…

Pushing the thought from his head, Jay focuses on guiding the girls to their new home. Anyone they encounter along the way is easily dealt with – Jay and Chad together make a formidable pair, and Lilac and Briar have perfected some pretty icy glares themselves. No one messes with them directly, but Jay can see Islanders sizing up their little group at every turn. Sooner or later, they’ll have to prove themselves, and Jay is pretty sure he knows how that confrontation will go.

This time, they get to Hannigan’s without incident, and deposit the girls at the door. Jay even finds it in himself to flirt with Daisy a little, and though she rolls her eyes, she flirts back. It’s easy, it’s a familiar Island role, and both of them know it means nothing, less than nothing. A friendly tease; just the price of doing business on the Island. Jay even thinks that Daisy looks a little pleased. Not because of the flirting, of course, but that she’s important enough that Jay is spending time making her happy. Once upon a time, that meant big things on the Island.

Nowadays, Jay isn’t so sure. Concealing his reluctance, he turns back to Chad. Now it’s just the two of them. “I need to find some things for my dad to sell,” he explains to Chad warily. “We’ll be in and around the market for awhile.”

A grunt from Chad. “ _Find some things,”_ he repeats, voice dripping condescension. “That means stealing, yeah?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Jay nods. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

“Then just say that.”

“Okay. I have to find some shit to steal, so my dad can sell it,” Jay snaps, letting his temper get the better of him, finally. “Stay close.”

Thankfully, Chad elects to stay quiet, and they move through the streets of the bazaar together. The pickings are lean – the garbage barge won’t come for two more days, so it’s been five since the last influx of new supplies. People are keeping what they have close, and closer still when they see Jay’s smirk.

Despite this, he finds what he’s looking for eventually. It’s Narcissa, one of Mangiafuoco’s girls, and she’s wearing some pretty new thing around her neck. She and Jay go way back, so when he throws his arms around her, she knows the price of doing business. She smiles at him anyway, and he asks after the others, and it is good to see her after so long. She’s always been what passes for kind on the Isle, and generous, and extremely upfront. Jay likes that about her.

The only snag is when she sees Chad, waiting, irritated, behind Jay, and a smile curls up the side of her mouth. “Now who’s your friend?” she asks, eyes gleaming.

Stiffly, Jay waves Chad over. “This is Chad. He’s from Auradon.”

“Crown Prince Chad, of _Arendelle_ ,” corrects Chad, with an eye roll. Allah, Jay can’t stop fantasizing about killing him.

Narcissa, on the other hand, lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, you are,” she purrs. Chad snorts.

“And you are?”

“I’m Narcissa,” she sticks out a hand. “But you can call me Cissa, if you like.”

Chad stops to look her up and down, and Narcissa smirks. She’s long been the oldest and therefore the most dominant of Mangia’s workers. She’s tall, slim, and keeps her long, jet-black hair as clean as anyone on the Island. She has cool silver eyes that make everyone wonder, behind her back, who exactly her parents are. But Chad’s examination goes on too long to be mere admiration, and Jay sees Cissa’s smile slipping. She looks unsure of herself suddenly, a way that Jay has never seen her look before. He decides right away that he hates it.

After a minute too long, Chad deigns to shake her hand. Cissa pulls her hand back, no longer smiling, as soon as he’s done, and they stand in an awkward, silent little triangle. Jay almost wants to give the necklace back.

But he can’t do that, so he tells Narcissa an awkward farewell, and leads Chad out of the alleyway. He doesn’t bother to say anything about Chad’s rudeness. What would be the point? Instead, he leads them down another alley, and another, until he’s amassed a few pockets full of half-decent wares for Jafar.

He’s thinking they should start to head back when their luck runs out. Down one of the alleys they’re exploring, Jay runs straight into Gil.

Fucking Gil and the pirates. Guy’s an idiot, but he’s always, always, _always_ game for a fight, and that’s…well, that’s gonna be a big fuckin problem.

Immediately, they’re facing off, sizing each other up. Gil’s deceptively skinny, but he’s got fighting experience, and Jay knows from past scraps that his punches pack a lot of power. Not to mention, he’s got the whole gang with him.

They range out behind him, filling the alley. There’s no way forward, and Jay will be damned if he’s comes back to the Island and ruins his reputation running away from a fight. Still, it doesn’t look good. Hook has six boys in his crew, currently, and they’re all experienced fighters. Two of them are littles, but the other four are plenty big enough to cause Jay and Chad some pain. Their only chance is hoping that the gang doesn’t see a reason to pick a fight.

“Who’s the fresh meat?” That’s CJ, stepping forward. Without a word, Gil fades backwards, letting the oldest take the lead.

“My name is Chad, and you can talk directly to me,” Chad responds, and Jay feels all chances of getting away without a fight slip. Chad is going to piss them off, provoke them, and they’re going to come away with some serious bruising, and maybe lose all of Jay’s hard work. He can just feel it coming.

CJ chuckles. “Got a mouth on you, Auradon.”

“I’m not from Auradon, I’m from Arendelle.”

The gang stares at him blankly. Jay is sure that none of them know the real difference, and double sure that none of them care. “Good to know, pretty boy.”

“My name is Chad.”

“And I’ll try not to wear it out.”

There’s a tense, uneasy silence. Then Harry steps up, and Jay fights not too visibly wince. It’s over for sure, now.

The thing about Harry is that most of the Island is pretty sure he’s Hook’s actual son. He looks enough like the greasy pirate, and popped out of one of Mangia’s early whores, some redhead that was banished to the Isle for kidnapping or animal trafficking or something. He’d been raised around the docks, within sight of his father’s ship, and Hook still wouldn’t acknowledge him. He was clever, and fierce, and fast, but he had to fight his way onto Hook’s crew more than a dozen times over before his purported father reluctantly let him stick around. It left him with a hell of a complex. Always needing to prove himself, always picking fights he just barely won. He’d never taken on Jay before, because he Jay always had Mal behind him. But now, Jay could just see the gears turning in his head. Him, and all his crewmates, against Jay and some Auradonian who’d never been in a fight…

“So what do you think you’re doing on our Island?”

Chad looks disdainfully over at Harry and laughs, actually laughs. Oh, Jay has such a bad feeling about this. “Your island?” he shakes his head. “If we’re the ones that put you here, don’t you think that makes it our island?”

Eyes narrowing, Harry tips his head to one side. _Oh shit, oh shit._ “You think you’re hot shit, huh, pretty boy?”

“I _know_ you ain’t shit,” retorts Chad, and that’s when Harry runs at him. Jay readies himself to jump in –

But Chad dodges Harry neatly and swings a punch of his own that knocks the Island kid flat on his ass. “I’m not scared of you,” he tells the gasping boy, almost sounding bored. “Try again on someone a little smaller.”

Staggering to his feet, Harry runs at Chad again, and this time the teen takes the punch without flinching, after which he lays Harry out on the ground again. “Had enough yet?” Chad asks, smirking. Apparently, the guy’s been in a fight or two. Apparently, his well-fed musculature more than tops Harry’s Island scrappiness. This isn’t going to be pretty.

For now, the others don’t want to get involved. They want Harry to handle himself. Jay hopes that holds. When Harry stands up, his lip visibly busted, Jay swallows, and Gil steps forward. “Just leave me alone,” Harry snarls. “I can handle this.”

He absolutely can’t. Chad batters him around a bit more and then shoves him on his ass. “Give up,” he tells the guy, sounding almost bored, and finally, Harry takes his advice.

“Little tougher than you look, pretty boy,” he spits, glaring at Chad.

“And you’re exactly as tough as you look,” Chad says, rolling his blue eyes. Harry’s lip curls and he spits blood on the ground.

“Better watch your mouth,” he warns.

Scoffing, Chad doesn’t bother to reply. CJ speaks up, and reluctantly, Harry drops back. Jay’s nervous, but CJ doesn’t look like he’s going to start swinging. “Didn’t expect an Auradon kid to fight like that.”

“I’m not an Auradon kid. I’m from Arendelle.”

“So you’ve said.”

“And if someone attacks me, I’m going to defend myself.”

“All right, Arendelle,” CJ mutters, seemingly carelessly, but he does get the name right this time. “C’mon Harry. Let’s go.”

Jay waits until the last of them have disappeared from the alley, and then he lets himself breathe again. “Nice job,” he tells Chad, actually meaning it.

Chad snorts. “Yeah. Well, that kid shouldn’t be picking fights he can’t win.” Jay snorts. “Who were those guys, anyway?”

“They’re Captain Hook’s current crew. His original crew mostly abandoned him after the banishment, and the ones that are left have gotten pretty lazy as they get older, so he replaces them sometimes with the younger boys. Offers a gang for protection and a place to live for kids that earn a spot. Usually only six or seven on the boat at a time.”

Nodding, Chad stares after them, though the group is long gone. “Could we get them on our side?”

“Definitely not. They only look out for themselves, and they only respect other people that prove themselves. Usually through violence,” Jay adds, in response to Chad’s questioning look. “They’d never align themselves with us while we’re protecting you all. And, uh, we had a bit of a feud with them for a while.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’d like to think they’re the toughest thing on this Island,” Jay shakes his head.

“Not if they keep dragging that loser emo guy around,” mutters Chad. Jay agrees, but something about Chad’s tone bothers him. He thinks about it the whole way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for the purposes of this fic Uma is not a part of Hook's crew + it's a little bigger to pose a more serious threat to Mal and hers. Uma will be showing up later! And I promise there are reasons for all of my random edits


	16. i was born hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of chronic pain/illness

Seeing Jay treated the way that Chad insists on treating him puts Mal in a terrible, black mood. Ben and Cassia are perceptive enough to notice her glowering, and mostly keep quiet on the way back to town. Thank Evil they’re smart enough for that. Mal still refuses to go easy on them, and she has to admit she takes small vindictive pleasure in planning things, little twists or reveals, that will catch them off guard, maybe make them feel a bit unsafe. It’s a mean trick to play on two so trusting and pure as the siblings following her. But Mal hadn’t felt safe the first sixteen years of her life. Why did these two deserve better?

Those are the vengeful, cruel thoughts she’s thinking when she decides to pay an old enemy a little visit. Instead of turning up towards the castle when they reach the street they know leads toward the castle, Mal turns away.

“W-where are we going?” Ben’s voice is hesitant, and right now, that’s pissing Mal off.

“I have to see someone,” Mal replies curtly. “Just stay behind me.”

Ben and Cassia obey, and they move silently through the streets. No one dares mess with them, not while they’re with Mal and she has that icy coldness to her face. After a few solid minutes of silent walking, Ben works up the courage to speak once more.

“Mal, where are we going? What’s going on?”

Mal sighs. She’s still irritated with Chad, worried about Jay, and, though a lot has happened since then, wondering about Evie. Despite all that, it’s not really fair to take it out on Ben and Cassia, who are both too good-natured and polite to hold it against her, or even just insist more strongly to know what she’s doing. She’s taking advantage of their uncertainty after being forced onto the Island, and she really shouldn’t. She feels herself calming, feels the rationality descend back on her shoulders the greater the distance between her and the anxiety that’s plaguing Jay and Lydia. She always gets so antsy when one of them is upset. Now, at least, she can acknowledge it and name it for what it is. Not frustration with the Auradonians, not exactly. Just the same grinding fear that she had had the luxury of forgetting.

These two had never learned it to begin with. That’s too much to grapple with, so she just starts talking. “Day after tomorrow, the garbage barges come, and they dock in the bay, and everyone on the Island descends on them. It’s…it’s chaos. It’s hard to tell what’s worth grabbing and what isn’t, so there’s a lot of pushing and shoving and fighting. How successful you are mostly depends on luck, and who gets there first. Back before we were sent to Auradon, we had a pretty prime position in terms of when we got onto the barges. I want to know how things have changed and who might’ve taken our place.”

“So you have an ally you’re going to ask about it?”

Mal makes a face. “Ally is a strong word. Probably…probably the wrong word. Uma is…well, you’ll see. Just stay behind me and stay quiet. Things are delicate, with them.”

It’s a good thing that Mal gets all that out of the way, because a block later there’s a knife at her throat. Mal’s surprised – Uma’s territory isn’t supposed to start for another _two_ blocks. Mal doesn’t like being surprised.

Not showing it on her face, Mal glances at the figure next to her, making sure to rake her eyes down the shadowy frame with as much disdain on her face as possible. “This is a little uptown for you, isn’t it, fish legs?”

“Things have changed since you flitted off to fairyland,” the person beside her hisses.

“You haven’t.” It’s true – Uma looks exactly the same. Dark dreadlocks hang down around their face, and they’re still a good six inches shorter than Mal, despite being almost the same age. Their wide hips and curvy frame bely the smooth young face that gazes back at Mal, their expression as impenetrable as stone. Tired of feeling steel at her neck, Mal rolls her eyes. “Unless you’re going to use it, get that knife off my throat.”

After considering for a moment, Uma pulls the knife away. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, Mally.” They pocket the knife. “You’re in my territory, and you know how I feel about little fairy princesses in my territory.”

“The only reason this is yours is because I was gone,” Mal rolls her eyes. “By next week it’ll be free and clear again.”

“It will? Because me and mine held off the pirates for this.” Uma flips their hair over their shoulder, making a show of not caring. “All six of them. So it’s recognized. I’m all official and everything.”

That’s news to Mal, and she fights not to blink. Holding off the pirates means something. “You must’ve had serious help to fend off Hook’s boys.”

“Maybe I’ve made alliances while you were gone.”

“Who’d ally themselves with you?”

Uma is smart enough to know that Mal is goading them, and Mal can see them considering whether to answer.

“Jinx and Dizzy,” Uma says, finally. “There are some new groups you and yours should look out for.”

Eyebrows shooting to her hairline, Mal shakes her head incredulously. “No way. No way you, Jinx, and Dizzy held off Hook’s boys.”

Hands on their hips, Uma narrows their eyes. “A lot’s changed, princess,” she repeats. “You’d best keep a lookout. And ditch that deadweight,” they add, peering around Mal to wide-eyed Ben and Cassia.

“Stay out of it.” The two are glaring at each other, Uma’s face tilted up to meet Mal’s gaze, and Mal sees that things have changed. There’s a steel in Uma’s gaze that wasn’t there before, a fear that has faded from those brown eyes.

It doesn’t bode well for Mal and her gang, she knows that much. Uma is an old enemy, and their rise in the ranks is only going to hurt Mal and her people.

On the other hand, Uma is small, and difficult, and doesn’t have any big siblings on their side. Adding in Dizzy and Jinx must’ve helped them a significant amount, because their only claim to power before had been intermittent help from their mother. The fact that allying with the likes of Jinx and Dizzy, who were in similar straits, resulted in such a rise in power, meant that there wasn’t anyone else that had really stepped up to fill the power vacuum when Mal departed. Hook’s boys would be as annoying as ever, and Uma would be more formidable. But besides that, no major alliances would cause problems for Mal and her crew – not until the rest of the Island realized they were protecting vulnerable Auradonians, and the whole group became targets…

But the group had some time before that happened. Breaking away first, Mal turns, careful to keep her gait as careless as possible. “Guess I’ll take a different way to the bay, if only it keeps me away from you, bottom-feeder.”

“Sure, tell yourself that’s why.”

“Can’t think of another reason.” Mal smirks, and she can see how her dismissal of Uma’s new, hard-earned power is pissing off the other teen.

“Whatever, princess. But on barge day, just know you’ll have another thing coming.”

“Whatever you say.”

Mal turns and leaves, although this time she keeps Ben and Cassia in front of her. She knows turning her back on Uma will only irritate the other teen further, but she can’t resist. Besides, attacking her now would be a cheap shot.

So Mal stalks out, guiding Ben and Cassia in front of her. They stay quiet back to the castle, Mal’s head spinning as she thinks about alliances, rivals, who could be counted on to remember them and perhaps support their authority.

As soon as they get back, Mal knows she’ll be inundated with questions from Ben and Cassia, so she takes this time to think about the major groups on Auradon and how a Dizzy-Jinx-Uma alliance will shift things. Does that mean Gothel, Facilier, and Ursula will align themselves? She thinks not, because the magic users don’t tend to get along very well. Ursula might have allied with one of them, but certainly it’s an alliance of two if anything at all. She’ll have Hook’s crew to content with, and Uma will make her life harder if they can. Mangiafuoco and his minions will be out in force, oily and grinning and preferring retribution to direct confrontation. There will be a lot of moving parts. A lot to prove. Kids to look out for.

A headache is forming just thinking about it.

Back at the castle, Ben and Cassia start asking questions almost as soon as they step through the door. “Hold on,” mutters Mal. “We have to walk through the throne room to get to my room. Maleficent doesn’t need to hear all this, if she’s in there.”

For once, Mal is almost hoping her mother is there, because she doesn’t want to explain all of Island politics to two clueless outsiders. Of course, the one time that she would’ve been pleased to see her mother, Maleficent is nowhere to be seen. Even without Maleficent there, her goons might be lurking in the shadowy corners of the room, so to be safe, Mal holds up a silencing hand as they walk through the huge, empty, echoing space.

Once they’re through, she has no more reason to silence the Auradonians, so reluctantly, she nods as they follow her to the tower where she sleeps. “Who was that girl?” Ben asks hesitantly, as they follow her up the winding stairs.

Frowning, Mal shakes her head. “They’re not a girl, but that’s Uma. Ursula’s eldest. We, ah…don’t get along.”

“We could see that,” mutters Cassia. “What’d you do to them?”

Already annoyed by the conversation, Mal sighs. “We just…don’t get along. There’s a lot of, ugh, history I guess. They piss me off and I make them feel threatened. It doesn’t help that Ursula and Maleficent hate each other.”

“They do?” That’s Ben, genuinely curious all the way. “Why?”

“Who knows? They’re old and crazy. A lot of magics and royals resent Maleficent for her power and status.”

“Why…” Cassia’s brow furrows. “Why is Maleficent so powerful, if no one actually, you know, has their powers?”

“Well, it’s complicated. Maleficent is fae, so she still has some of her abilities. Nothing major, but it’s in her blood and being. Ursula especially hates her because Ursula is also technically a magical creature, but the Auradonians imprisoned her in human form.”

“What does that mean for her?” Cassia sounds fascinated. She doesn’t know any better, but her tone still makes Mal bristle.

“It means she’s in constant pain,” Mal replies shortly. “As are her children. They’re trapped in false bodies, but the barrier won’t let them revert.”

Eyes widening, Cassia stares at her. “What…why are they…?”

“They’re sea witches. Ursula and her kids. Human bodies aren’t built to contain that kind of power and sea witches aren’t made to be out of the sea for that long. Ursula can’t really walk anymore because it hurts too much. The lot of them spend a lot of their time in the bay, even though it’s gross and polluted, but their human lungs can’t breathe underwater, so they have to get out eventually, which is almost harder on them.”

All of this Mal recites dispassionately, but the longer she goes on, the more horrified the Auradonians look. “Why would they be forced into human bodies?” demands Cassia. “Especially if Maleficent isn’t?”

Passing a hand over her face, Mal wonders how to explain this. “You can’t…they’re sea witches, which are different than normal witches, but that still means that a lot of their power comes from potions or harnessing external forces. Maleficent is fae, which means her power comes internally. There’s no way that can be held in a human body. No human body exists, for her. Fae blood is tied to her life force, so if Auradon wants her alive – and they do – her magic has to be a part of her. Not to mention she’d burn through any human body they locked her in, even without her full abilities.”

“O-okay,” Ben nods, still looking sick. “But why would we trap Ursula in a human body if that’s painful to her?”

Deep breaths, Mal reminds herself. She shouldn’t yell at him, or even laugh. It’s a genuine question. That almost makes it worse.

“Because she’s less dangerous and easier to control in a human body, as are her children,” she explains shortly. “Same reason Maleficent can’t have her wings, and that hurts just as bad. They had to cut them off with an iron blade, actually.”

“Oh my god.” Cassia looks like she actually might throw up.

“Wait.” Ben’s face is drawn in a frown. “Wait, if it’s also painful for Ursula’s kids…does that mean…you…?”

Blowing out a deep breath, Mal finds herself dreaming of times when she didn’t have to teach Island sex ed. “Not quite.” By now, she’s leaning in the doorway to her room, the Auradonians across the hall from her in one of the extra bedrooms that was seemingly constructed for no reason. “Ursula had those children herself. They don’t have a father, understand?”

“That’s…how is that possible?” Cassia’s brow wrinkles.

“She’s a sea witch. A water creature. They can have – you know, it doesn’t really matter.” Mal shakes her head. “Point is – they’re fully her. So there’s nothing diluting their sea blood. That makes it worse for them. Maleficent could’ve done the same thing, but she didn’t. It wasn’t traditional…” Mal makes a face. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m only half fae. So I have magic, but it’s less. No wings, no horns…hair…little things.” She shrugs.

“So you aren’t in pain all the time?” Ben sounds hopeful.

For a moment, Mal considers it. “Not pain. But it’s like…like discovering a part of yourself. I didn’t have any access to magic until I went to Auradon for the first time. It felt like…like, you know in winter, when you breathe in really cold air, and it feels like it fills your lungs all the way up?” The others nod. “It’s like that – for the first time. Like taking a deep, full breath for the first time, and realizing how much space your lungs actually have in them. And coming back here is like…” she sighs, tired just thinking about it. “It’s like, you’ll survive, and you’ll breathe just fine, but you aren’t breathing freely anymore, and this time, you know the difference.”

Stricken, Ben reaches out for her hand. “Mal, I’m so sorry.”

Shrugging his hand off, Mal flashes him a surface-level smile. “Don’t worry about it. Anything in the name of Auradon security, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry I disappeared for a week - I didn't have Internet last Friday, and after that I just kinda forgot (oops). Will try to get an extra chapter out this week to make up for it!  
> Some quick notes - I switched around gang loyalties because Hook's gang needs to be all male for plot reasons BUT Uma is still here to fuck shit up. I hc Uma as nonbinary as y'all must have noticed, super willing to talk about that if y'all want!  
> And that's about it! Hope you enjoy, sorry for lateness


	17. i am seeking, i am striving

From the beginning, Vlasta promised that they would be able to communicate with the outside world, but the royals are still surprised when the communication from Queen Regent Elsa comes through.

“She’s an idiot,” scoffs Duke Philip confidently, after the messenger has handed the letter to Adam and left. “Obviously we’re going to coordinate an escape.”

“Is the seal broken?” That’s Commander Mulan, and Philip’s face shifts as he realizes it’s a good point, and he didn’t think of it.

Turning the letter over in his hands, Adam examines it carefully before answering. “No, the seal is intact. It doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with at all.”

“But is it Elsa’s seal?” Queen Anna’s voice comes from all the way down the hall. “It should look like a snowflake, with four diamonds branching off it, and each of the diamonds has a symbol of one of the four elements inside it.”

“That’s too small for me to see.” Adam shakes his head, hands the letter off to Belle. “You tell us.”

For a few long, tense moments, Belle examines the seal, squinting in the half-light of the dungeon. “It looks legitimate,” she says, after the pause. “And it’s truly unbroken. The lines are clean – it hasn’t been melted off and removed.”

“So she _is_ an idiot,” declares Duke Philip triumphantly.

“An idiot who managed to capture and imprison all of us.” Queen Merida’s tone is acidic, and once again, Belle internally bemoans the fact that the Dunbroch rulers are in the cell right next to all the high council members.

Before they can erupt into an all-out fight, Queen Anna’s voice rings out again. “Can you open the letter?” She sounds impatient. “And read it loudly, please.”

Obligingly, Belle slides a nail under the blue wax seal and lifts it off the paper. The letter inside is full of Queen Elsa’s spidery handwriting, dashed slantingly across the page. The other woman wrote this in a hurry.

Belle clears her throat. “Dear King Adam. Your missive reached me unmarked and seemingly unread, so I will speak candidly. I am in talks with Queen Kida and Lord Zeus, as well as the acting heads of the kingdoms of Agrabah, DunBroch, Atlantica, Corona, and Maldonia. Arendelle, Agrabah, Corona, and Dunbroch are planning an armed assault to liberate Auradon. Atlantica will support from the sea and is considering a tactical assault on the Isle of the Lost. Please advise if this is too risky.” When there is no uproar at that, Belle takes a breath. The dungeon is dead silent. “We have consulted every authority we can find trying to understand Vlasta and her origins. There are no mentions of her anywhere, in any official records. Her magical signature appears completely unique. Scouts and spies tell us that she has sigils carved into her skin, powerful ones. Many of the spells around her appear to have been cast and prepared over many years, perhaps even decades…” Belle trails off, unable to believe what she’s reading.

“Decades?” That’s Fairy Godmother’s stunned voice. “Sigils, carved into her skin? Oh, this is strong magic. Dangerous magic.”

“Keep reading,” implores Duchess Aurora, brow furrowed. “We can discuss the magic at the end, please.”

“She says, um, she says that Vlasta’s forces are similarly enchanted. They are relatively small in number, but extremely well protected, unfailingly loyal, and clever. One was captured by a border patrol in the mountains, and…” Belle trails off again. _What?_

“Well?” Duchess Ainsley isn’t pleased with the pause.

“The-the soldier did not relent under threat of torture, bribery, or deprivation. Soldiers were considering actual torture when it was inadvertently revealed that…” Belle swallows. “The soldier was a manufactured creature.”

“What does that mean?” Sultana Aladdin’s question rings out in the quiet of the dungeon.

“Oh, gods,” whimpers Fairy Godmother.

Attempting to clear her dry throat, Belle speaks up. “It’s, ah, it means her soldiers…she crafted them with her hands. Or, someone did. They’re artificial creatures, animated by extremely powerful magic.”

“What does that mean for us?” Commander Li Shang sounds intent, and Belle hopes that Fairy Godmother’s explanation doesn’t wipe the hope off his face. They need someone with some hope right now, hope and good ideas.

“It means that she’s a powerful sorcerer,” Fairy Godmother tells him, doing an admirable job of keeping her voice from shaking. “An unbelievably powerful sorcerer, given how lifelike her servants are. They will be difficult to kill, impossible to meaningfully injure, and they will remain obedient no matter what. We will have to utterly destroy each and every one of them to be safe. And if they’re under heavy protection…”

“Could you make them?” That’s Commander Mulan, coming up to stand by her husband, grasp the bars of their cell alongside him.

“Well, yes, but I doubt I could make hundreds.” Fairy Godmother shakes her head. “That must’ve been the work of decades, indeed.”

“So Vlasta must be…must be at least as powerful as you.” Commander Li Shang is sounding less sure. “Shouldn’t you know about a magic user that’s that powerful?”

“I should! Every magic user _should_ be registered. Even if they aren’t, that kind of magic should have caused a big enough disturbance that I would notice it. I scanned regularly; I checked the kingdom for that kind of abnormality. I would never have missed something of this scale.” Fairy Godmother throws up her hands. “It just doesn’t make sense!”

“This sorcerer appears out of nowhere, with a magically created army of super-powerful warriors, invades and takes over a powerful kingdom, and imprisons almost every major ruler in the world because she arrives at just the right time.” Having summed it up neatly, Sultan Jasmine shakes her head. “There’s something we’re missing here. Somehow this has to make sense, we’re just…not understanding it. We’re missing something. There’s something not right.”

“Well, we’re all trapped in our dungeon.” King Philip’s voice drips condescension. “So I’d have to agree there’s something not right.”

“It’s too convenient,” Commander Mulan agrees, utterly ignoring Philip. “The timing is too perfect. She knows more than she should. It’s like…”

Belle has a bad feeling in her stomach. She wants to tell the commander to stop talking, before she says something they’ll all regret, but Sultana Aladdin speaks up first. “What is it? What are you thinking?”

“Well…I think there must be someone on the inside who’s passed her information.” Mulan shakes her head. “There’s no other explanation. None.”

“There are other explanations!” Fairy Godmother sounds outraged, and Belle wonders if it’s a cover for fear. “She could’ve been spying. She could’ve used magic to read minds. She could’ve been watching in a ball, or a mirror-”

“So there are two possibilities,” amends the commander sharply. “She could’ve had a mole, or our security is lacking.”

Fairy Godmother’s mouth purses in a furious scowl, but she can’t find a way to argue with either point this time. “Fairy Godmother is head of our magical security, and she’s the most powerful fae in any kingdom we’ve ever come across,” Adam reminds them fairly, finally stepping in. “She conducted scans every week, kept tabs on magic users and magical disturbances, and ensured that our meetings were not being surveilled as best as she could. Some magical items can’t be detected. If Vlasta was using a crystal ball, or an all-seeing eye, that’s not her fault.”

“Those are rare and extremely precious objects.” Queen Tiana is frowning. “Where would this woman have gotten them? How would she have the money for that?”

“If it was a family heirloom, it could’ve been passed down,” offers Ariel.

“If it was a magical family powerful enough to have a ball or an all-seeing eye, we’d know about it,” counters Fairy Godmother.

“She might’ve stolen it.” That’s Sultana Aladdin’s suggestion, unsurprisingly. Belle scolds herself for that thought.

“If someone lost something of that value, they would certainly report it stolen or missing.” Fairy Godmother shakes her head. “Maybe…maybe my scans missed something. Maybe her magic is subtle, maybe-”

“Maybe she’s a more powerful sorceress than any of the others we’ve met.” Queen Merida’s voice comes from the floor of her cell, where she’s lying on her back staring at the ceiling. Belle winces at her rough tone.

Then Adam speaks, and Belle relaxes. Despite all of her husband’s flaws, she still trusts him to make the right call, say the right thing, and more often than not, he proves her right. “It could be a magical lapse,” he acknowledges, and Fairy Godmother sags. “But uncomfortable as it is, we cannot ignore the possibility that she has a spy in our ranks.”

“The only people who knew the details of our summit were ourselves and our closest advisors.” King Eric shakes his head. “I trust my people.”

“And my father trusted Jafar. Look where that got him.” Sultan Jasmine has her arms crossed and she’s glaring defiantly at the crowd, daring them to say what they’re all thinking, which is that the late Sultan, Jasmine’s father, was not the sharpest in any meeting.

“Exactly.” Adam cuts off any possibility of rudeness toward the prideful Agrabahans and returns focus to the matter at hand. “The uncomfortable fact is that it could be any of our people, which doesn’t mean much now, because presumably they’re all imprisoned with us. Still, when we respond to Queen Elsa, we should tell her to keep a look out for any advisors who aren’t being punished as harshly as the others. Everyone should be suspect.” There are nods around the dungeon. Belle feels the urge to speak up for their people, their loyal, friendly advisors – but she knows everyone else feels the same, and somewhere in one of the cells, one of the royals could be wrong. She keeps her mouth shut and waits for Adam to finish. “She’s also an adept magic user, and sensitive to its use, yes?”

After a moment, Queen Anna’s voice comes floating down the hall. “Yes, she is!”

“So she will also have to look out for unorthodox magic usage from Vlasta.”

“King Adam, if I may?” It’s King Naveen’s melodic voice, for the first time in a long time. “I myself was the victim of a scheming advisor. My kingdom is well-versed in dealing with such people. If Queen Elsa is already preoccupied with magical security, I could ask my people to do some searching, see what they find.”

“Excellent idea, Naveen,” Adam says heartily, and King Naveen smiles.

Suddenly the dungeon is full of suggestions. Everyone knows the Atlanteans are the most magical, they should be contacted and asked to investigate Vlasta. Queen Elsa should ask the Northuldra to move the spirits against the woman. No, that could cause harm to innocent citizens trapped in the kingdom. Well, they could shelter somewhere else. Where? Who will feed them? What about property damage? Now isn’t the time to worry about property damage.

“What about the kids?” Queen Ariel asks, her voice tentative. She’s interrupting a loud argument between Queen Merida and Duke Philip, who are debating the merits of a full-scale attack against Auradon, so she’s a little hesitant, but all eyes turn to her when she mentions kids. “I could ask our military to look at moving against the Isle of the Lost-”

“It’s not a good idea.” Belle winces at the way Adam’s voice interrupts, right in the middle of Queen Ariel’s thought. “The magical shields are strong and complex, not to mention, we might succeed at retrieving our children, but how would we ensure that other villains don’t escape when your people open a portal?”

“Well, how do we usually ensure that?” It’s a fair question from King Eric, but Adam dismisses it out of hand.

“By having soldiers and powerful magic users at the ready, not to mention ensuring that those we are trying to retrieve are already waiting for us by an agreed upon entrance point. If your people are attempting a stealth retrieval, we would have to find a way to communicate with the Isle, and it’s simply not possible. The barrier is designed to repel any communications that don’t bear the official seal of Auradon. That’s an inflexible condition of letter entry.”

Scowling, King Eric shakes his head. “We should still try to get those kids out.”

Sighing heavily, Adam sits on the cot. He looks weary. “It’s my kids in there, Eric,” he reminds the other ruler, and the man has the decency to look embarrassed. “A lot of others, but my kids, too. And I want them out, off the Island, out of Maleficent’s clutches. But if we go in trying to save our children, and unleash half the world’s villains on our kingdoms, we’ll be worse off than we were to begin with, by far. Retrieval from the Isle is just too delicate. I think it may have to be the last thing we do, after we overthrow Vlasta.”

It’s a grim thought, but there’s no argument, not even from hotheaded Queen Merida. A quiet desperation has settled on the royals. They’ve energetically talked through their ideas and their options, and now they’re confronted once more with their own helplessness.

Belle can’t bear it. Standing up and clearing her throat, she calls down the hallway to King Kristoff and Queen Anna’s cell. “Queen Anna, King Kristoff, could you get that messenger back in here with a pen and paper? We need to start drafting a reply.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone have any theories about Vlasta??


	18. do whatever just to stay alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: emotional abuse, discussions of abuse and alcoholism

Barge day dawns bright and cold. “It’s always colder on barge days,” explains Evie cheerfully, as she leans over the dresser to peer into the mirror, applying makeup to her already perfect face. “It’s the way the sun interacts with the barrier guards. There are a bunch of compensatory spells to keep everything in order while the barges are allowed through – it’s really interesting, actually. In that book Lydia showed you.”

Audrey nods and smiles, although she isn’t more than ten pages into the tome. She can’t help it. It’s incredibly dense reading. Magical theory and the construction of a self-sustaining cell. It almost puts her to sleep every time she picks it up.

Evie has the whole thing just about memorized.

“Of course, that’s only a theory,” Lydia adds, glancing over at Evie from where she’s digging through their overflowing closet.

Blushing, Evie’s gaze drops to her hands. “Right, yeah, sorry. I don’t know any of that for sure – just a guess based on the spells they used-”

“It sounds right to me.” Audrey smiles at Evie in the mirror, and after a second, the other teenager smiles back. Evie’s still a little shaky, after her time in the dungeon. She nearly jumps out of her skin at every loud noise. Last night, she and Lydia insisted on sleeping on the floor while Audrey slept in their twin-size bed, and Audrey had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of Evie’s lung-shaking sobs.

This morning, of course, she wakes to find both twins already up and about, most of the way through their extensive morning routine. The pile of blankets that they slept on the last night have been folded and stowed beneath the bed, and Evie has already spent her allotted twenty minutes going through their closet agonizing over what to wear, while Lydia applies a full face of makeup to her perfect skin. When Evie’s dressed, the two trade and begin the other process. All of it done in semi-darkness, without waking Audrey.

While Audrey stumbles out of bed, rubbing her eyes and squinting blearily at the bursting closet, Lydia has already moved onto the row of potions lined up on her desk. Three are finished – she sets these aside, to bring downstairs with them – and another four only need to sit uncorked for a few more hours before she adds a few drops of nightshade and bottles them. Across the room, Evie picks up the embroidered gown for Grimhilde, and has added a delicate stem of bleeding-heart flowers by the time Audrey has dragged on a v-neck shirt and jeans.

At school, Audrey dresses better than this, but it’s uncomfortable and unfamiliar wearing other peoples’ clothes, so she’s been dressing down of late. Examining her appearance critically in the mirror, she reminds herself that the twins have told her dozens of times that Grimhilde won’t be looking at what she’s wearing, or whether or not she’s wearing makeup. The twins’ pale complexions won’t work at all with Audrey’s brown skin, anyway, so she doesn’t bother with the makeup. Still, she’s afraid she’ll walk downstairs today and the Evil Queen will tear into her as mercilessly as she does her daughters. Audrey doesn’t think she’d survive that.

Coming up on either side of her, the twins add their eyes to those that are scanning Audrey’s outfit, and she reddens. Lydia is wearing a pair of daisy dukes that make her legs look miles long, and a lacy top that reveals the shelf of her collarbone. Evie has on a skirt, a tank top that looks like it’s made of silk, and a green leather jacket that she embroidered in abstract colors to hide the ink stains on the arms.

“You look great!” It’s Lydia’s cheerful voice, and Audrey has to smile, because she knows Lydia means it. “But I’m going to grab a jacket, because I know I’m already cold, and you’ll probably want one too, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Audrey nods. “Thank you.”

The jacket that Audrey gets is actually warm – fleece-lined, if a little old. Lydia, on the other hand, pulls on the most threadbare sweatshirt that Audrey thinks she’s ever seen, and flashes Audrey a smile. “Want to head downstairs?”

Down the castle steps, each of the twins carrying a bag of supplies so they can keep doing their tasks downstairs. Grimhilde isn’t up yet, so the twins lead Audrey to a side room, where an empty fireplace does nothing to warm the air. Evie’s in a skirt, and Lydia is in some extremely short shorts, and Audrey knows both girls must be uncomfortable, but neither show any signs of it. Lydia disappears outside to gather more herbs from their garden, while Evie keeps stitching panels of fabric together, then embroidering over them.

It’s the first time they’ve been alone together, and Evie looks a little nervous. “Do you think your mom will be up soon?” Audrey tries casually.

“Maybe,” Evie’s brow furrows. “She’s…well, she’s unpredictable. Usually, she’s up by now, or in the next half hour. Some days she sleeps in, really late, and then she’s in an _awful_ mood when she gets up.” Evie shudders and shakes her head. “But it’s barge day. I don’t think she’d sleep in too late on barge day.”

“So barge day is a pretty big deal?”

“Oh, yeah. People like to stock up on food for the week, and things to trade around for whatever they might need. We’ll all look for food, but I’ll also be looking for fabric, thread, and clothes in salvageable condition. Lydia will be looking for herbs and other potion making supplies. Carlos will need furniture to replace what Cruella is sure to have broken, and Jay…” she smiles distractedly. “He pretty much goes for anything shiny.”

“Sounds busy.”

“It’s insane.” Evie sighs. “The whole Isle will be on that boat or fighting to get onto it. Everything is in garbage bags, so they get slashed open and go spilling everywhere, and then people fight each other for what falls out.”

Shuddering at the thought, Audrey glances over at Evie to find her bent intently over her work. She’s glad the other teen didn’t see her visceral reaction at the thought of everyone fighting each other over garbage. “That sounds…dangerous.”

“It is, especially because the barge is parked in the bay and most people don’t know how to swim.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. I saw someone get stabbed once on barge day, over half a container of stale donuts.” Evie shook her head. “People here are animals when it comes to food.”

For a second Audrey’s throat doesn’t seem to work correctly, because she can’t seem to make a sound. Evie saw a person _stabbed?_ Over _stale donuts?_ The gruesome tragedy of the story is somehow worse because of how ridiculous the whole thing sounds. “These people must really be starving,” Audrey finally manages.

Evie glances up, and their eyes meet. She smiles a humorless little smile. “Yeah, I guess a lot of us are.”

With a surge of guilty horror, Audrey remembers that Evie and Lydia haven’t eaten in two days, possibly longer, and have another day to go before their mother allows them food. “I’m…sorry,” she tries lamely, wondering how specific to be, but Evie waves a hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” The other girl flashes a tired smile. “It’s my bad. I’m grouchy this morning.”

“I’d be more than grouchy if I were you,” Audrey mutters, and Evie hears her and giggles. It’s the most genuine, unafraid sound that Audrey has heard out of her since…well, maybe since they left Auradon. She’s really happy to hear it.

Moments later, Lydia walks back in, bag round with the leaves and roots of various plants. “I can’t do any preparing in here,” she tells Evie, setting the canvas sack by the door. “Want to give me some sewing?”

Obliging, Evie passes over her own bag for Lydia to rifle through for patterns and fabric. Watching the two of them work so diligently, Audrey feels both useless and ignorant. Not only have they told her about a hundred times she doesn’t need to help them with anything, she couldn’t help them if she tried. She’s never learned to sew, and what they’re working on now is too complex of a project even for someone who did know the basics.

Besides, Evie’s hand is moving so quickly Audrey doesn’t think a sewing machine could work any faster. Lydia is only a bit behind. “So um, we’ll just go down to the bay for barge day?” asks Audrey uncertainly, checking out her nails. There’s not much else for her to do.

“We’re going to check on the Charmings first. See how they’re holding up with the Tremaines. Then swing by Hannigan’s, to see how Lilac and Briar and Lizette are holding up over there.” Evie doesn’t even need to look at her stitching while she works, so she looks up and smiles at Audrey. “We’ll have chores from our mother, of course. And I’d like to check in with Jay and especially Carlos before the barge gets here. I know there’s got to be a long list of things they need, and we can try to keep an eye out.”

“It’s a good idea.” There’s already a note of caution in Lydia’s voice. “Just, I know Carlos is going into the woods to check on the little kids, so I don’t know if we’ll be able to catch him before the barge. Definitely Jay, though.”

“Yeah,” Evie sighs. “We’ll see them all at the barge.” There’s a wistful twist to her face. “I’d just…I don’t know, I want to see them. Mal, too,” she admits with a shy smile. “I know it’s only been a couple days but…”

“I know.” Lydia shoots her a sympathetic smile.

“What time does the barge come?” Audrey’s sorry to interrupt their moment, so she waits a minute, but she is curious about what’s to come. The days here are a weird combination of pretty boring, and then suddenly way too exciting. All the time they spend in the castle is dull because Audrey’s not supposed to help with chores, so mostly she just sits around watching the twins work, and occasionally chatting with Grimhilde. That, at least, is engaging because she has to watch her mouth so carefully.

When they get outside the castle – that had been interesting when they went yesterday. The town is dirty and dangerous, in a way that Audrey can’t deny is fascinating. There was garbage everywhere, and she couldn’t say she was a fan of that, but it was so shockingly different from the clean, well-maintained streets of Auradon that she couldn’t help looking. Evie and Lydia and their Isle-royal pedigree were enough to command respect from all but the most dangerous and deranged island inhabitants, so mostly they passed through town unbothered, but for comments and catcalls that only get louder when the hecklers saw the twins have an Auradonian with them.

The twins are well-versed in Island etiquette. They had set their faces in stony masks and marched through the marketplace as if none of the vulgar words even reached their ears. Audrey had done her best to mimic them, but it was a laughable effort. Her mouth dropped open at some of the things she heard; she couldn’t stop blushing or flinching. All of it just encouraged the speakers to shout worse things, and louder.

The sense of danger had been thick in the air, but Audrey knew she was safe as long as she stayed with the twins, so it was a little intoxicating. She found herself straining to hear the muttered comments, because she was morbidly curious to hear what these people had to say about her. She’s still curious, and she’ll get another chance today.

Exchanging looks with Evie, Lydia sighs, her lips twisting up in a frown. Clearly, she’s not as excited as Audrey is about the Auradonian being out and around. “Well, the barge will come in around five thirty, but…” Another significant look passes between the twins. “I just don’t know if…Audrey, it might be safer for you to stay here, you know?”

“No!” Audrey’s reaction is immediate and vehement. “I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to be alone with Grimhilde. Besides, I, I…” she thinks desperately. “I can be useful, I promise, I’ll, I’ll help you look for supplies if you tell me what I need to look for.”

Shoulders slumping, Evie shakes her head. “Audrey, it’s _really_ dangerous out there. People get hurt all the time. Shoved into the bay, or stabbed…and…” Visibly reluctant, Evie drags a hand over her face. “It’s just…look, it’s nothing personal but…every gang and everyone dangerous and just…everyone is going to be there. And we need to look tough.” She swallows as she says it. “Sorry, for how that sounds, but. We need to look tough.”

Audrey’s petulant side wants to sulk at that, but she knows it’s fair, and she’d like to think she’s gotten a little more mature in her time on the Island. Sure, it’s only been three days, but three days Island time feels like weeks back home. Her hardheaded nature holds out a few moments longer and then she shakes her head, resigned. “Fine. Fine, no, that makes sense.” She heaves a strong sigh. “But, c’mon, take me into town to see the Charmings, and Lilac and Briar and all.”

Relieved, Evie smiles at her. “Yeah,” she agrees readily. “Yeah, of course.”

“Of course, what?”

At the sound of Grimhilde’s voice, ice runs through Evie’s veins. She straightens, stiffens, and feels her twin do the same beside her. Across the room, Audrey’s eyes widen. It’s all visible, but Evie knows, after sixteen years with the woman, that the Evil Queen rather likes knowing that people fear her. It’s the only power she has left, after all.

“Of course Audrey will comes with us to the market today,” Evie answer Grimhilde smoothly, smiling placidly up at her mother.

“Mmm. Right, well, let’s see what you’re wearing, then.” The twins stand up, side by side, laying their sewing on the couch. Lips pursing, Grimhilde looks them over. “Lydia, what the hell are you wearing those disgusting short shorts for?”

Lydia’s hands curl into fists, the only visible sign of her anxiety. “It’s, um, it’s barge day, Mother. I need to be able to move freely.”

“You look like a slut. Evie’s much better dressed.”

Ducking her head, Lydia nods. Satisfied, Grimhilde nods, reaches out and smooths down Evie’s hair with one hand. Evie tries not to let the relief show on her face.

She’s dressed stupid for barge day. She knows that, and Lydia knew it when she saw what Evie had chosen that morning in their room. But after being in the dungeon for a night, she’s afraid. She needs to be a little more on Grimhilde’s good side. She had hoped that it wouldn’t come at Lydia’s expense, but they both knew it probably would. She’s hoping that Lydia can afford the drop in favor just now.

“Before you girls go dig through that awful barge, we have chores to do,” Grimhilde announces. “Lydia, potions?”

“I have three finished.” Lydia hands them over. “Four more will be done by evening, and I have the materials for seven after that. But if I take many more herbs after that, and the garden will start to suffer.”

“Hmph. Look for herbs on the barge, and in the forest,” Grimhilde instructs, fingers tapping her chin. “And deliver these three to Mangiafuoco before you go the barge.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“That will have to do for now. This much should keep him happy for a month, maybe more. Tell him his girls need to use it sparingly.”

“Yes, Mother.” Lydia winces, because she knows the potion is less effective in small quantities, but she keeps her reservations below the surface.

The morning passes dully. There’s some superficial tidying for Grimhilde and the twins to do, while Audrey follows them from room to room, but after that the twins just settle into sewing, with Lydia dashing up the stairs once or twice to check on the potions brewing on her desk. Their mother bustles in and out, and Audrey just sort of sits there and thinks. She can’t have a book downstairs, the twins have told her, because Grimhilde will snatch it away, so she chats with the twins. Not that there’s much to chat about. They resort to giving her an unofficial account of the population of the Isle – everyone they’ll encounter on barge day, their lineage, and who they’ll have to look at for. When they strike upon this goldmine, Audrey is fascinated. All the stories about villains and their children, the ones that have gone crazy or mean or, rarest and weirdest of all, soft.

In the back of her mind, Audrey remembers that these are real people and their lives she’s talking about. There’s suffering here, on a scale that dazzles her, a scale that confounds her, a scale that makes all of her conceptions about it utterly useless because she just can’t grasp what’s really going on. It’s serious, deadly serious. The twins feel the same ambivalence over signaling to Audrey that these are people to laugh at, not to fear.

But the thing is that it’s also gossip at its core, and she’s tired of being so on edge all the time. Perhaps her giggling at Lydia’s imitations of drunk Islanders is disrespectful to the suffering their children endure. The imitation itself makes light of neglect and abuse. Still, if there’s anything the twins have taught Audrey in her three endless days, it’s that a lot of things can be excused in the name of survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, hope you like the update!
> 
> I have some news: I'm going back to school next week, or at least starting that process, so I don't know when I'll be able to update again. I will keep working on this fic when I can, but it may be a lot more inconsistent. Please be patient with me! Thanks for reading :)


	19. and it goes on and on and on and on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: physical child abuse

As always, Carlos rises with the sun, and moves around Cerise silently so he doesn’t wake her. Unlike he’d expect with any of his people, they sleep next to each other without touching, so it’s easy for Carlos to move around her. For the past three days, she’s been asking Carlos to wake her when he gets up, so she can help, but he’s not going to do that. For one, he doesn’t know if she’ll get grouchy with sleep deprivation, and it’s not something he wants to experiment with. Besides, he can get plenty done on his own, and it’s nice to have a few hours of quiet in the morning, when he doesn’t have to think about what she’s doing and whether she’s safe.

He does like Cerise, and he counts himself lucky for that. She’s helpful, and a hard worker, and she makes him laugh – especially when her headstrong nature rears its head. She’s well-versed in anger management and her own impulsivity, but sometimes she still blurts things out without thinking about them, and Carlos likes that true, unfiltered version of her.

He’s mostly just glad he didn’t get stuck with Chad. The tourney captain is _obnoxious,_ and he scares Carlos more than a little. He’s an Auradonian, true, but all of their villainous parents once lived in Auradon, or kingdoms like it. There’s something about Chad that just seems angry and dangerous. Like maybe he could be violent if he was mad enough. Carlos has spent enough time around people like that to trust his instincts, sometimes more than logic. Carlos shakes his head, a quick rattle to get the dark thoughts out of his brain. Good thing Chad is with Jay. Jay can handle him. Shouldn’t have to, of course, but can.

It’s the leanest day on the Island – the morning of barge day – so Carlos doesn’t have much luck as he darts down the streets and alleys, looking to feed himself, Cerise, and, later that day, all four of the kids out in the woods. This time, when he finds a rat carcass, he seriously considers bringing it back to Cerise, but decides against it. There’s nothing left but bones anyway, and the tail, which is completely inedible anyway. Carlos cracks the bones in half and sucks the marrow out, then keeps one in his mouth to feel like he’s eating something.

Down the streets and alleys and all over town, and there’s nothing, nothing. Normal people might clean out their cupboards in preparation for the new food coming in, but Islanders tend to hoard even more than usual. There’s no telling what will be on the barge when it comes, and if living here has taught the villains anything, it’s pessimism.

Usually, Carlos would give up, let his stomach growl until the barge pulled in, but now that his life revolves around the Auradonians, he doesn’t have that luxury. A less practical person might be frustrated by having to cater to their soft, spoiled needs, but though the irritation rears its head every now and then, Carlos squashes it neatly every time. This is just how things are. Getting upset about it is nothing more than a waste of energy.

After scouring the streets, Carlos comes up with a half decent haul, and decides to give up for now. There will be plenty of lean days in the future, if these kids are on the Isle for long, and they’ll have to start getting used to it at some point. It’s still early when he slips back in the door, so he pads into the sitting room and scans the area for work. For several patient minutes, he repairs a cabinet that’s hanging on by one hinge, and by the time Cerise rises, he’s started patiently gluing the armoire from the sitting room back together. She joins him, sitting on the carpet beside him with a sigh.

“I told you to wake me.”

“I know.”

“Are you ever going to listen?”

“Only by accident.”

That gets a laugh out of Cerise, and Carlos sits back on his heels, pleased with himself. He’s never been very good at humor – the others laugh at his jokes because they know him, but to make Cerise roll her eyes and chuckle feels like more of a victory.

When he glances up, Carlos finds Cerise looking at him expectantly. He pretends not to know what she wants, so she rolls her eyes and spells it out. “Okay, what can I do to help?”

This time, Carlos shrugs. “This is really a one-man job. There’s not much you can do. Food is in the bag by the door – we’ll take the leftovers to the kids in the woods.”

Reluctantly giving up on helping him, Cerise grabs the bag of food. “There’s not much in here,” she murmurs, glancing doubtfully at Carlos. “And there are four kids in the woods. Two of them are teenage boys.”

“If there was more food out there, it’d be in the bag.” Carlos’s voice isn’t scolding, just factual, and Cerise still winces. “Before you say anything – you still need to eat. So have something, and the four in the woods can split the rest.”

“It’s barge day,” Cerise counters. “There’s sure to be _some_ food on that barge that you get ahold of. Why not let me go without for now, and I’ll count on barge food later?”

With detached interest, Carlos notes that his visceral resistance to that idea is just the same as the Islanders he was just rolling his eyes over. Not knowing what’s coming on the barge, he refuses to prepare for anything but bad news, and this is what he tells Cerise.

“We don’t know what will be on that barge, and what we’ll be able to get from it. Eat now. It’s safer that way. And you can’t come with me to the barge.” His brow furrows. “I’ll have to find somewhere for you to wait.”

“Hey, wait, what? Why can’t I go?”

“Too dangerous.” At Cerise’s frustrated look, Carlos figures he’ll have to explain, although the words themselves should be enough on their own. He sighs. “Barge day, everyone on the Island is out there, fighting for a good spot, fighting for the best loot, and just plain fighting because they ran into an old enemy. You wouldn’t be able to handle yourself.”

It’s blunt, but Carlos knows by now that Cerise can handle blunt, and he prefers the efficiency of things said straightforwardly. “So what, I’m to hide here in the back of the closet until you get back?” Cerise’s has both hands on her hips and she’s glaring. It’s the most argumentative she’s been since getting to the Isle, and Carlos is quietly amused by the fire in her that, to be honest, he’s been waiting to see. Up to now she’s kept herself well in check, but there’s real fight below the surface, and the part of Carlos that likes to weigh people, judge them, know their worth at his side, is anxious to see what the headstrong Auradon girl has to offer.

Usually, uncontrolled anger from someone he doesn’t know well would make him panic. Detachedly, Carlos wonders why that isn’t the case with her.

In answer to the question, he shrugs. “Barge days are long.” He scratches his head. “It doesn’t make sense for you to hide the whole time. But you can’t leave the house, no.”

“Because it’s not-”

“It’s _not_ safe,” Carlos agrees with a significant look that makes Cerise roll her eyes. “You can be in the house, I guess, but you can’t leave, and if Cruella comes back, yeah, you’ll probably have to hide in the closet.”

“I’m tired of spending all day cleaning or hiding,” Cerise tells him directly, looking him right in the eye. “I know that’s not fair. I know you’re working hard to keep me safe. I know you’re probably right, and I’m not safe outside.” She sighs. “I still can’t stand days of cleaning and waiting around for you to come back.”

Carlos nods. “I get it.” He does. If he didn’t have his plans to distract him from the endless, grinding toil and fear that made up his days, he probably would’ve lost it years ago. But he has his brain and eventually his people, and they kept him sane. Cerise’s people are in the woods, all but unreachable, and she has nothing to do when he’s out except more chores, if she can even figure out some of the more complex tasks. “What do you do with your free time at home?”

Dropping her eyes to the ground, Cerise shrugs. “I see my friends. Rock climbing. Horse riding. Archery.” She swallows. “I know that’s all rich kid stuff.”

Carlos nods. It is. “Reading?” he asks, but she makes a face.

“I know it makes me sound dumb, but I think most books are boring,” she admits, and Carlos smiles.

“Me too.”

“I like science better.”

“Me too, but mostly math. Engineering.”

“Well, I know that,” Cerise shakes her head. “The stuff you’ve built, out of such terrible materials…it’s really cool.”

“Thanks.” Carlos grins at her, and she grins back. “But you still need something to keep you busy. Do you sew at all? Or, um, knit?”

Cerise’s face is all the answer Carlos needs, and he laughs again at her visceral disgust. “My mother Ainsley and my grandmother tried to teach me about a hundred times each, but eventually they said I was too much like my other mother. Merida.”

“Is there anything you like doing that you can just do with your hands?” Carlos prods. “Like, um, writing? Or drawing?”

“Archery you do with your hands,” Cerise points out mulishly. Then: “Sorry. Ugh. I don’t know! At home we’re always outside. I’m on the rugby team…” she shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, Carlos, I don’t know how to just sit around a house all day.”

“I understand that.” Carlos’s voice is patient. “And here, that’s your only option. If you can think of something you can do here, I’ll bring you supplies. But I can’t take you with me. Most days I can barely protect myself. You could get seriously hurt. Or taken.”

The thought is sobering, and Cerise’s face draws tight. “I know. I won’t go out. And I’ll keep thinking about it. We’re, um, we’re still going to the treehouse though, right? To see the kids?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Carlos reassures her. “And yes, you’re coming, so you’ll get out of the house.”

She smiles at him. “Thank you, Carlos. I know you’re trying. And working really hard for me. For all of us.”

Rolling his eyes, Carlos shakes his head. Her sincerity makes him want to squirm – it has no place on the Isle, not even between close companions, which they decidedly are not. “It’s not a big deal,” he waves her off. “Anyway – if you want to help, I’m going to paint this…”

Until Cruella wakes around ten, Cerise and Carlos do chores, chatting like friends as they paint the armoire and then watch vigilantly for drips on the floor.

“Shouldn’t you have moved this outside?” Cerise asks, wrinkling her nose as more paint leaks onto the towels they’ve spread over the floor.

“And how would we do that?” Carlos arches an eyebrow. “These muscles look capable of moving this junk?”

Cerise laughs, and then Cruella stumbles through the doorway and both teenagers go absolutely still. Green eyes narrowing, Cruella sneers at the flame haired Dunbroch girl on her knees in the living room. “You’re being too loud, girl.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“You should be. Staying in my house. Eating my food.”

Biting her tongue, Cerise just nods. The food comment is too ironic for her to even come up with a response. Still scowling, Cruella stares at her for a long time.

Then she turns abruptly and lands a kick in Carlos’s ribs. “What have you been doing?” she demands, as he gasps. The blow has inflamed all his old wounds and the pain is breathtaking. “My house is still a _dump_.”

Responding feels all but impossible, when there’s _fire_ licking up his side, but Carlos knows that to refuse to answer would only earn him worse. He forces the words out through teeth gritted against the pain. “I’m…I’m trying, Mother.”

“Well try _harder,”_ Cruella sniffs, sticking her nose in the air.

“I will, Mother.”

Bored, Cruella sniffs. “Fine. If you don’t fix things up, then I’ll kick this filthy little girl out of my house. You don’t need any more distractions.”

“Yes, Mother.”

When she leaves, there’s a moment of silence, when it feels like there’s still no air in the room. Wincing, Carlos pushes himself back up to a sitting position, one hand creeping along his ribs, not willing to push down but wanting _somehow_ to draw the pain away.

Less comfortable with the silence stretching, Cerise breaks it first. “You okay? She kicked you pretty hard.”

“Nothing I’m not used to,” Carlos waves her off with one flagging hand. He shoots her a strained smile to let her know it’s okay, but somehow she looks even more upset. Maybe because his attempt at smiling looks more like a grimace right now. 

“You shouldn’t be used to that shit,” she mutters, brows knitting together.

“Doesn’t matter, Cerise. It is what it is and talking doesn’t change what it is.” He keeps his voice matter of fact because it’s not her fault, but it’s also not a conversation he feels like having. At all. Despite his attempt, Cerise still has this quiet, pained look on her face, and Carlos feels frustration like an itch in his brain.

Distraction is what he decides on. It’ll cure what’s bothering both of them. “C’mon.” He stands, pulls Cerise to her feet. “Let’s go check on the kids in the woods, yeah? We can spend a little while out there and come back just before the barge.”

There’s tension that relaxes out of Cerise’s face that Carlos hadn’t even noticed was there. He realizes then that it’s probably because stress and fear have been a part of her face as long as he’s known her. The reprieve is unfamiliar to him.

Cerise bites her lip, smiles at the thought of seeing her brother and sister. “Thanks, Carlos.”

“Of course.” He likes that she’s smiling again. “I’ll grab the food. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry it has been so long! I am not abandoning this story at all, just being back in school has shifted (delayed) my update schedule by a whole lot. I've been working on this for a while, hope y'all like it!


	20. i'll love you til it hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for threats, fighting, drowning

It’s only been one full day with Chad, and already things are going so badly that when Jay wakes up on the floor of his own room, he seriously considers slipping out the door and leaving the Auradonian to fend for himself.

The other teenager is asleep sprawled out in Jay’s bed, after having complained both nights that the springs are broken and the mattress is flat. He complains so much that Jafar pounds on the wall with a fist, and only then does the teen reluctantly go silent, glaring at the wall as if he has ideas about what he should do instead. He’s going to get Jay _killed,_ walking around like he has nothing to be afraid of. Every time they’re in town, Chad is glaring at people, running his mouth…now that he doesn’t have five siblings trailing after him, he’s not afraid to draw attention. And half the attention people pay to him is going to Jay.

With a heavy sigh, Jay gets up off the floor, wincing at the way his bones seem to creak. He dresses quickly, runs a brush through his waist-length hair, and then ties it up and out of the way. Usually he wears it down, and sometimes in a braid, but on barge day, he doesn’t want anyone to have an extra handhold on him.

When he’s done getting ready, Jay glances over at the sleeping form in his bed. He doesn’t want to wake Chad and get bitched at. He also can’t leave the teen in the house. Chad says five words to Jafar and Jay is willing to bet money that the Auradonian will get himself smacked. Already weary just minutes after waking, Jay clears his throat and pokes Chad in the side. “Hey, Auradon, it’s time to get up.”

Groggily, Chad glares at him. “How many times do I have to tell you, you stupid Islander? It’s _Arendelle_ not Auradon. They’re different fucking countries.”

“Ask me if I give a shit,” mutters Jay, but he’s turning away already, so he doubts Chad hears it. Evie and Lydia have always known more than enough history and geography to suffice for all five of them, and what Mal doesn’t know about politics, those two can supply. Personally, Jay has never understood why he should care about the names and lineages of countries that he’ll never see. Besides, it’s worth it to rub Chad the wrong way, just a little.

In the shop, Jafar is sitting in the corner, by the strongbox. It’s his favorite spot to lurk – up by the door but off to the side, so an unsuspecting thief might think, upon first glance, that they were alone. Jay knows, has known since childhood, that there are all kinds of paranoid little traps set up around the store, things that will crash to the floor and break or clatter against each other if they’re tapped the wrong way. Only a thief could be as terrified of thievery as Jafar is.

“Come here, boy,” his father demands, and reluctantly, Jay obeys. He doesn’t need Jafar to talk in his usual booming tone across the room, not with Chad well within earshot.

When Jay is close enough, Jafar grabs his chin with long fingers. “You’ll bring me treasures from the barge today, understood?”

“I’ll see what I can find.”

“Else maybe I’ll look closer at what you and that pretty, pretty boy are doing in your bedroom.” The purr in Jafar’s voice makes Jay sick.

Loading his voice with disdain, Jay stares straight into his father’s eyes when he responds, knowing that if Chad hears Jafar make another insinuation like that, Jay is, well, he’s done. “I’m not fucking the golden boy, all right, and you know it.”

“Oh I know _you’re_ not fucking _him,”_ Jafar purrs, a sneer creeping up his face. “You’re a bitch through and through, aren’t you, my son?” He strokes Jay’s chin. “I know you’re biting the pillow for more men than just me.”

“Fuck you,” spits Jay, jerking backwards. Of course, Chad steps out of the room just then, so for now, Jafar subsides. But his eyes are gleaming.

“Go on then, boy. Bring me something worth selling.”

Jay doesn’t bother to respond as he storms out the door.

For some reason, cursing at his father earns Jay some silence from Chad, for most of that morning. The two skulk through the marketplace, scanning for food and wares. This time there’s absolutely no luck – nothing that Chad will eat, and if Chad won’t eat it, Jay isn’t going to debase himself by having lower standards. Yesterday, Chad had demanded to see his siblings, and Jay had responded curtly that while it was their turn to check on Hannigan’s and Charmings, they wouldn’t be going all the way into the woods to see the boys. Initially, that had infuriated Chad – set him screaming, as a matter of fact – but after a visit to the girls had proved that they were doing just fine, the other teen had calmed.

Today, he doesn’t ask at all, and Jay counts that a small victory.

As the sun slides towards the horizon later in the day, when they’ve been roaming up and down alleys for hours, Jay decides to broach the topic of barge day. They’ve found a rooftop to sit and watch the bazaar, the people scurrying through it like rats. Chad is quiet, even contemplative, and Jay finds the tourney captain less unbearable for once.

“Barge day gets pretty violent,” he tells Chad, breaking the silence between them. The blond squints over at him, waits for Jay to continue. “People get in fights. People bring weapons.”

“Are you bringing a weapon?”

Jay had forgotten that Chad didn’t know about his knife. “Yeah. This.” He flips out a switchblade, a wicked little number close to five inches long. It stay tucked into his belt, where it’s worn out an indent against the leather. The shitty cracked plastic handle has been melted and remolded by Mal. She used a cast of Jay’s fingers, so it fits his hand exactly, like it was made for him. Using it is as easy and natural as breathing.

Prepared for shock, followed by judgment and squealing, Jay is surprised when Chad merely nods. “So are you gonna get me a blade?”

Tipping his head to one side, Jay considers it for a long moment. There are knives in Jafar’s shop that they could borrow, but that’ll come with a price, if Jafar notices. Besides, as tall and broad as the Auradonian is, Jay doesn’t actually think that Chad is capable of knifing someone. “Not worth having if you’re not going to use it. Asking for a fight you won’t win, that way.”

“Who says I’m not going to use it?”

“What do you know about stabbing, Chad?” There’s no reply, just sulky silence. “Exactly. You’re lucky you’re even coming.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m sure the others will leave their pet Auradonians at home.” Jay can feel Chad bristle at the title, but it’s true, and Jay doesn’t care about hurting his feelings. Good, not nice. “You’re big enough to be worth bringing along.”

“Why thank you.”

The sarcasm in Chad’s tone isn’t worth responding to, so Jay lets it drop. “You’ll need to be paying attention. React quick. Things change in an instant on barge day. People are hungry, excited, all charged up. Everyone wants shit and no one’s going to get it. Things get ugly.”

“How ugly?”

“Ever seen someone get stabbed in the eye?”

Even sullen Chad has to swallow at that image. “Didn’t think so,” Jay mutters. “Things look ugly, you find Carlos and stand with him.”

“Why Carlos?”

“He’s not exactly an enforcer.” Jay shrugs. “Mal and I will take care of whoever’s messing with us. You look tough enough that people probably won’t try you, but if you’re with Carlos, you won’t be expected to jump in on any action.”

Mulling it over, Chad nods, a little unwillingly. “What about the twins?”

“What about them?”

“What use are they gonna be in a situation like that?” Chad asks bluntly. “At least Carlos has a brain. What do they bring to the table?”

His tone is so dismissive, so casually mocking, that without even thinking about it, Jay’s fingers start to creep toward his knife. “Don’t talk about them.” Jay doesn’t bother to defend because it doesn’t matter what he says to this guy. It doesn’t matter what Chad thinks. He’s a stupid, spoiled little pansy and no one worth anything listens to him anyway. But if he says another goddamn word about the twins –

Instead of pushing his luck, Chad just snorts, and the pair resume their on-high observation of the marketplace. Eventually, Jay judges that enough time has passed. Silently, he waves for Chad to follow him as he walks down toward the bay.

When Jay and Chad reach the meeting spot, Mal is already waiting, and her eyebrows lift at the sight of Chad. “He’s useful,” Jay points out, and Mal nods.

“I wasn’t questioning.” Now it’s Jay’s turn to nod, properly cowed. “We can’t take our usual spot.” Mal is grimacing. “We’d have to take on Hook’s crowd, and I just…don’t want to waste that time and energy. We’ll take a different spot, still a powerful one.”

“What powerful spot is there besides the front of the line?” It’s a fair question. The barge noses in, only making contact on one side. The Islanders stream on from that side, and that side only. Every week, some desperate cases use the same scraps of lumber to build rafts, which they float out towards the sides of the big ship, hoping to scramble up dangling ropes and reach the deck a little quicker than they would have.

But most Islanders can’t swim, and if they fall off their boats, or the tenuous crafts dissolve, it’s a one-way ticket to the bottom of the bay.

Even worse, if they’re thrown off, or shoved, even accidentally, they can’t die, because the barrier won’t allow anything that could be understood as murder. So though their lungs might fill with water, and their body and brain might be denied air, they’ll go on living, sucking in dirty water thirty feet below the surface. A horrifying existence, and one with no easy remedy. A few times, Jay has seen someone haul themselves out of the bay, after finding a rope or dragging themselves along the sea floor until they find a slope that allows them up onto a beach. But after days, weeks, or months spent underwater, unable to breathe, the people he’s seen have lost their minds so thoroughly there’s no hope of ever getting them back.

It makes Jay shudder, just thinking about it. Ignorant of his thoughts, Mal is still trying to answer the question of approach, her brow furrowed fiercely. “We’ll go from above,” she decides finally. “Roof of Mangiafuoco’s.”

Relieved by her genius, Jay nods. “The old man does like the twins.”

“Who likes us?” Evie tips her head, sending her dark hair swinging. She’s grinning at both of them, but Jay knows the smile is really aimed at Mal. The blonde smirks right back, doing a good job of hiding the relief she must be feeling at seeing Evie. Chad’s presence could be helpful, on the barge, but right now it only complicates, and Jay resents him that much more. If he weren’t here, the girls would be essentially wrapped around each other by now. As is, they’re as demure as middle schoolers at a dance. No touching, just looks, and a hard swallow from Evie.

“We’re jumping onto the barge from the roof of Mangia’s,” recaps Mal, and the twins nod approvingly.

“Smart.” Lydia swings a canvas bag over her shoulder. “We waiting on Carlos?”

“Not anymore, you aren’t,” comes the familiar voice, and Jay feels a rush of warmth. They’re all here. All together again. All safe and accounted for. It’s a powerful feeling, the relief that overtakes him. It’s more than comfort. It’s a feeling of being complete again.

After a moment of quiet, where Jay _knows_ they’re all feeling that sense of quiet inside, Carlos glances around, eyes alert. “What’s everyone looking for?”

They all need food, and plenty of it. That’ll be a big obstacle. Then the twins need some potion supplies – leaves and seeds and flowers that they’ve shown Jay a hundred times before. He can identify them on sight, even crushed or half-rotten or covered in rancid milk. They’ll take thread or fabric in good condition too, although this, Jay doesn’t trust himself on. The twins never seem to agree with him on what constitutes salvageable fabric, and they have long since confirmed that while he can be extremely detail-oriented, he’s also definitely colorblind.

Lastly, Carlos needs dishware and a chair if they can find it, and maybe a hand later that night if he finds other furniture he likes. A silent nod from Jay affirms that he’ll be there. Chad will just have to live with staying up as late as Carlos might need them.

This whole time, Chad has been silent, but now Mal turns to him. “You know what to do when we’re on there?”

“Stay quiet,” Chad says grudgingly. “Look mean. If you start fighting, go stand with Carlos and let you handle it.”

“That’ll do,” Mal approves.

“If I get attacked, I’m going to defend myself.” Chad puffs out his chest, and Mal regards him with an utterly bored look.

“Be my guest. Now come on. We’re wasting daylight.”

According to astronomer Evie, who measures by squinting at the sun and is always correct within fifteen minutes, it’s about five thirty when the barge pulls in. In other words: right on schedule. How considerate of the leader of a coup, to ensure that overthrowing the monarchy doesn’t disrupt the trash disposal. The group watch it approach silently, perched as they are on top of Mangia’s, out of sight of everyone on the dock.

The dock is loosely packed with Islanders, everyone far enough apart that they don’t bump into each other and start a fight but drawn ever closer by the promise of the groaning barge. There are a few little dinghies swirling in the wash of the huge boat, and those at the back of the pack, the bottom of the pyramid, the dregs of the Isle, are tossing rocks from where they stand on the shore, so far back they can’t even get on the dock.

The smell reaches them before the barge, and Chad makes a face. The Islanders are unbothered. It’s not much worse than the way the Island always smells. They’re used to this – the deck heaped high with bulging black and white bags, the sides of the boat stained with rust, and the belching groan of the horn as it draws into harbor.

As soon as the boat makes contact with the dock, Hook’s crew is surging forward. But Mal has already strode forward, already used a rope dangling from the side of Mangia’s to slip down and land on the deck of the barge while it’s still a few feet off, too far to jump. Her people come down around her, landing light as cats on the creaking boards of the ancient barge. The looks that Hook’s boys shoot her are full of hate, but Mal tosses her hair without a care in the world and her little crew strides off between the stacks of bags. Everyone has seen them on the barge first, and those far enough back haven’t even noticed that they weren’t the first in line. They’ve reasserted their place without so much as a fist thrown.

There’s no rhyme or reason to placement of bags, and certainly no predicting what will be in them, so Mal guides her little group to the back of the barge, not wanting to be in the crush near the front. The five of them split up loosely, staying near each other as they each cut open different bags and start looking.

Chad, of course, is no help at all. He stands in the middle of them with a disgusted look on his face, doing his best not to touch anything. Rolling his eyes, Jay ignores him and gets to work, looking for anything sealed and only a few days past expiration. There are some cans of beans and chili that look promising – someone cleaning out their cupboard. The end of a bag of rice, with enough grains left for one or two sparing meals. Stale crackers, spotty apples, an orange that’s gone a little bit soft – all of them disappear into his bag. More notably – a cracked vase, the broken chain of a necklace, and a dented statue of a man whose face Jay doesn’t recognize, or care about. Around him, the others are working diligently – slashing open bags, spilling their contents across the deck to get a better look at what’s on offer. Chad yelps as something splashes onto his shoes, and Jay snickers.

The motions are repetitive and familiar. Grab a bag, cut it open, sift through what’s inside. Soon, Jay’s hands are covered in things he doesn’t want to think about, but he’s used to that too, and it doesn’t bother him. Around them, there are scuffles, shouting. Mostly people work quietly, darting glances around to make sure no one’s watching them, ready to steal their spoils.

About an hour in, Carlos bumps into Tempest.

Tempest is one of Hook’s boys, and later, Mal will theorize that they scattered just so they could find Mal’s crew and manufacture a reason to fight with them. That’s exactly what happens after Carlos bumps Tempest – the teen immediately spins around, plants his hands on Carlos’s shoulders, and shoves _hard._ Tempest is bigger than Carlos – almost everyone is – and so the younger teen stumbles, and falls on his ass.

“Hey!” Mal’s shout is both a rebuke and a rallying cry. In an instant, the gang has whipped around from wherever they were searching. Their bags are tossed to the deck by Chad’s feet, where Carlos gathers next to the twins. Jay takes up a post between the twins and Mal, who is stalking forward to shove a finger in Tempest’s face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Mal’s hair is whipping around in the barge breeze, and every muscle in her wiry body is corded with tension. She’s ready and she’s angry, and Jay feels a surge of reassurance. Anyone who sees her, hears the snarl in her voice, will know that she’s no one to be trifled with. Auradon can’t change her protective streak. That shit is in her blood.

“He needs to keep out of my way, and so do you.” Below his overgrown black hair, Tempest’s eyes are hard and gray as stone. For a while his crew were the most dangerous teens on the Island, and they liked that title. They’re not ready to give it up just because Mal’s crew came back. But Mal will make them. Jay knows she will.

“ _You_ need to keep your hands off my people.” Mal’s hands are on her hips, and she focuses her stare on Tempest, ready to flash her eyes green if she needs to.

Out of nowhere, CJ appears, standing just behind Tempest. With one long arm, he reaches out and shoves Mal backwards, and they all hear the collective breath drawn in. It’s bold. It shows just how much they’ve forgotten and how soft they think that Mal and hers have become. Jay feels a growl in his throat. He’s ready to show them all their assumptions are wrong.

Most of the scavengers have stopped, which is a testament to just how momentous the gesture really is. “Don’t tell him what to do.” The words are still coming out of CJ’s mouth, but Mal is already moving.

If Jay had his pick, she’d let Jay take CJ, because the older teen is just too big for her to handle comfortably. But CJ attacked her directly, and she’s not going to let that slide.

Hook’s boys got the fight they wanted, but at a cost. Splitting up the way they did was a mistake from the start, all of Mal’s know that, and soon they proves it. A fist to CJ’s jaw, a foot to his crotch, and a hard shove into an open garbage bag neatly takes care of their original challenger. He’s been on top too long, expected Auradon to make her soft, and didn’t react nearly quick enough for someone who was challenging Mal, a girl whose reputation was for deadly speed.

Behind her, Jay handles Tempest. They batter each other back and forth, but Jay is taller and bigger, so when he throws Tempest to the ground and flashes his blade, the younger teen stays down, though there’s fury in his eyes.

Harry and Tough show up in time to see the older boys fall, and early enough to still be an inconvenience. Everyone knows, though, that the power of Hook’s boys is when they’re in a crew, all together, and one has to take on six of them at once. With just skinny Harry and eight-year-old Tough, Mal isn’t exactly worried. Evie upends the kid in a nearby trash can, which leaves him struggling to get out but unhurt, while Lydia shoves Harry into Jay. Grabbing him by both biceps, Jay uses the momentum the staggering teen already has to hurl him headfirst after CJ, who’s just now picking his way out of the mountain of trash Mal tossed him into. Both teens go down, hard.

Turning her eyes to the assembled masses, Mal heaves an exasperated sigh. “Don’t _fuck_ with us,” she mutters, ostensibly directed at CJ, but her green eyes stare flashes over all of them, and every person that sees the glow of magic in her looks away.

They’re all so distracted that they don’t see Gil, arriving late to the game. Seeing his crewmates down, he knows the fight is over, but he steps toward Carlos anyway, who’s been focused on scowling at anyone who steps near Chad, and their loot, to get a better look at the fight. Seeing him drawing closer, Chad steps back, and Carlos lifts his lip in a snarl. He raises his knife and waits for a fist to come flying his way. Jay sees it as he turns, a flash of movement that catches his eye in time for him to see Gil go for Carlos. He expects a fist, maybe a foot.

Instead, Gil charges at him like a bull, and throws Carlos over the side of the barge.

Carlos can’t swim.

He sinks like a stone.

Mal barely sees it out of the corner of her eye, but Lydia lets out a howl, and Jay is already moving. Sure, fast strides carry him toward Gil, who can’t help but cower in the face of the older teen’s furious approach.

But Jay moves right past Gil, puts one foot up on the edge of the barge, and dives over and down.

Usually, Jay’s the more talkative of their number. He jokes to put people at ease, and he flirts like it’s second nature. He keeps a pretty good inner commentary running in his head, noticing and assessing the people around him. He would’ve expected, in a time like this, to hear that little, scared voice inside him, something screaming like Lydia did. Some kind of reaction, anything.

But inside there is only this: _Not him._

Not him. Jay falls through the air and plunges into the rancid, dirty water of the bay. He opens his eyes and salt, plus a million other pollutants, relentlessly attack his vision. The water around him is dark. The sun has almost set and it is dark brown to begin with. Carlos is somewhere below him, dropping like a rock, completely unable to swim.

Not him. Jay starts reaching through the water, pulling himself down, down. Not him. Jay pictures him, his dark hair and dark, mischievous eyes, the way he grins when he’s set some kind of trap. Not him. Always freckled, even though the Island sun is a vanishing rarity. Not him, and his small, darting warm hands, the way their bodies fit together, the way Jay can feel him relax when Jay holds him, when Jay holds him-

Jay’s hand brushes fabric, and his fingers close around it, and he drags upward so hard he knows the shirt is ripping. It doesn’t matter, because it brings Carlos within arm’s reach, and Jay grabs him with both hands, hard. He knows it’s Carlos, knows it’s him and not some other poor fucked drowned kid. He’d know those hands anywhere, the way his fingers grab on tight, tight, tight to Jay, so tight the older teen knows he’ll have to fight to swim them back up.

Jay shuts his eyes, holds Carlos with one arm, and kicks as hard as he can, clawing with his free hand. It’s hard. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done. Their clothes billow around them, heavy and waterlogged, and Carlos is kicking, struggling, choking, making these horrible sounds as he fights not to let himself breathe.

And then he breathes in, sucks in a mouthful of water, and Jay feels his body shudder and start and then stop.

And then he is dead weight on Jay’s arm, and it is so, so much worse than fighting.

Gripping him harder, Jay fights upward, feeling his own lungs burn, knowing if he can’t make it then they’re both fucked. Not him. Not him. Not Carlos. Come on. He kicks and reaches and his lungs are screaming, his eyes are screwed shut and he has no idea how much farther –

And then his hand breaks the surface. A few last desperate spasms from his legs and he’s above the surface, gasping, hauling Carlos up with him too.

Not that there’s any point. Carlos’s lungs are full of water. They do not work. He doesn’t gasp, and breathe, and start vomiting water. He sags in Jay’s arms like a dead thing, and the fear in Jay is enough to make his whole body feel weak, powerless.

Above them, on the barge, there’s screaming. A long, protracted howl cuts the air. It’s a male voice. Likely Gil. Jay doesn’t doubt that Mal and the twins made him pay.

There’s no way up the ship from down here, so with shaking hands Jay swims them toward the docks, to where he can use the shaky planks to haul them both up. When Jay finally heaves Carlos’s waterlogged body up onto the wood, the sound of his body hitting the dock with nothing in it, no animating force, is enough to make tears flood from him. It’s a good thing Jay’s face is already soaking wet.

He knows he needs to push on Carlos’s chest, get the water from his lungs, but his pulses are too erratic, too far apart. Jay doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s not working. Water is bubbling up between his lips but Carlos is still motionless, still lifeless, still pale. His curls are pasted to his forehead and his clothes stick tight to his body and he looks so fucking goddamn small.

 _Please, Allah_ , _not him._

“Faster. And harder.”

Jay doesn’t look up, he doesn’t care about the voice instructing him. But Uma speaks again, and their voice is harsh and demanding. “You need to push _faster_ and _harder_ or he’s not going to spit the water back up and he’ll be as good as drowned forever.”

Snapping his head up to glare at them, Jay shakes his head. “I can’t push _harder_ ,” he growls. “I’ll hurt him.”

“Yeah, maybe. But you need to get the water up.”

Jay is panting, he’s desperate, and under all that, waiting to be realized, is an incandescent fury that still seeks an outlet. He puts his hands together on Carlos’s chest and pushes harder. More water leaks between the fallen boy’s lips.

“Again. Again. Again. Hold that rhythm.”

He doesn’t know why he listen to Uma, but it’s not like it’s going to hurt. And then – then, after an endless minute, Carlos’s chest moves convulsively, separate from Jay’s hands, and he vomits what seems like an endless stream of water onto the deck. “Keep going,” Uma instructs, implacable. “There’s a lot more of that in him.”

Jay does, he keeps going until no more water comes and Carlos is just coughing, harshly, and Lydia is next to him gently pulling his hands away. Uma is gone. The others are there, all around him. Once his hands come off Carlos’s chest, Evie guides Carlos up, to a sitting position, where he coughs and spits and sucks in breaths of real air, dirty harbor air, real air.

“Jay.” It’s Lydia’s voice, insistent. “Jay, he’s okay. He’s okay. You saved him. He’s okay.”

Jay nods, too exhausted for words. He’s still crying, tears streaming silently down his wet face. He doesn’t think anyone can tell, but he still draws in a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. “C’mon.” Lydia brings him to his feet. “Let’s get back. I know you have more to find.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“I know, Jay. Me neither. But we’ll look weak.”

The anger is still coiled in Jay’s muscles, still prowling for an outlet. He’s not going to let it out on Lydia, but it’s a battle. “I’m so fucking tired of spending all our time thinking about what everyone else is thinking.”

“I know,” says Lydia softly. “Come on.”

She and Jay head back to the barge, and Chad and Mal follow. Evie can handle Carlos, who’s still breathing raggedly behind them. She can, and Jay knows that, and trusts that. But as he walks away from Carlos, every part of him is still insisting that he go back to the dock and hold Carlos, hold onto him, and never let him go.


	21. and then he falls, as i do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS (please note v important this chapter):  
> aftermath of drowning, graphic description of rape (see notes at the end for details. If you don't want to read the rape scene, it begins and ends with an asterisk so if you skip the asterisk parts you will be a okay.)

They’re on the barge for another few hours. Mal focuses on the motions, thinking only about finding pretty things for Jay, cloth and herbs for the twins, dishes for Carlos, and food for fourteen. She watches her own hands; watches the garbage she digs through. She tries to get out of her own head for a little bit.

In her head, she can’t stop seeing Carlos disappear over the side of the barge, and Jay diving after him. She’d seen them go and she thought – that’s it. She’ll never see them again. The water closed over his head and that was all – Mal thought she’d never see either of her boys again, and that thought was so painful that it took her breath away, left her standing mute and horrified, an easy target with her hand on her throat and a gaping hole in her chest. By the time she reached the side of the barge, nothing was left of them but the explosion of bubbles that Jay had left behind, and even those were disappearing quickly, way too quickly. Both boys gone, and nothing left of them. Mal couldn’t stop staring, as if she could somehow bring them back through will alone.

Behind her, Lydia took care of business, chasing after Gil as he scrambles to get away, while Evie followed Mal to the edge. Evie grabbed her leader by the arm and hauled her roughly away. “I know,” Evie hissed, “I know, now get back here, there’s nothing you can do, get back and here and make him _pay-_ ”

Suddenly, Gil was screaming. Lydia, it seemed, had already made him pay. She’d taken something out of a pocket, a little unassuming glass jar, and thrown it in his face, hysterical with fury, and Mal looked and Gil’s face was –

His face was _melting._ His face was reddening and bubbling and dissolving, his mouth a hideous wet cave. He was clawing at his face, tearing, rubbing furiously, but his screams only ratcheted louder, higher, more frantic. “What’d you do to him?” CJ demanded, voice cracking wildly. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” Lydia’s eyes were feral. Her teeth were bared in a vicious snarl. She looked utterly unhinged, and Mal was so fiercely proud of her that her chest hurt. “You want him to live, get him to the water.”

Each grabbing an arm, CJ and Tempest hauled Gil down towards the edge of the barge, toward the water. Mal and Evie and Lydia glared all around them, daring anyone to take a step closer, to laugh, but none of the Islanders around them would even make eye contact. They were terrified.

It took every ounce of Mal’s self-control not to sprint back to the edge of the barge, but she walked at a reasonable clip instead, the twins beside her. For what felt like forever, they stared at the inky water below, waiting.

Finally, Jay’s hand broke the surface, then his arm, and then his head was above the water, and he was gasping, choking. Carlos was hanging from his arm. Mal felt a treacherous lump in her throat, a stinging in her eyes that she bit back viciously. She dug her nails into her palms so hard she felt blood start to drip down her fingers. This was what a prayer answered felt like. Right here on the Island, a blessing before her eyes.

“Oh, god,” Evie murmured beside her, too quiet to be heard. “Oh thank god.”

Lydia just swallowed audibly.

Together, the three marched toward the dock, forgotten Chad trailing behind them. At their approach, the other Islanders scattered, even adults. Everyone saw what Lydia did to Gil’s face. Mal would have to ask her later what kind of potion that was.

On the dock, Jay was pounding on Carlos’s chest, and the younger boy was vomiting water. Then he wasn’t vomiting water, and Jay was still pushing on his chest, and Lydia had to tug him off Carlos, and reason him onto the barge. Mal could tell that Jay was shaken, shaken to his core, but he didn’t need Mal to crowd him. Evie tended to Carlos, and there was no extra help needed there either, and Mal looked around and realized there was nothing to be done, so she followed Lydia and Jay back onto the boat. Chad trailed along after her, but she paid him no mind. She had so much adrenaline coursing through her that she was still almost shaking.

It doesn’t go away. She’s digging through trash feeling completely wired, wanting nothing more than to abandon their searching for the day and go back to the treehouse and-and- she doesn’t know; scream or slam her fists into a tree or squeeze Carlos and Jay until something breaks. The love that rises up in her chest is almost violent – she wants to hit something, hard, wants to feel the fact of her skin against something else. She wants her bones rattled, the focusing sting of pain. She wants reassurance, real and hard as a bruise, that her boys are still here. On a normal night they’d abandon the barge, to hell with their duties, and she would lead them back to the treehouse and they would spend the night pressed so close together they’d be indistinguishable, one solid breathing mass. A reminder that they weren’t five people, not really, they were one, and of course none of them could _die,_ Carlos couldn’t die or disappear, because he was part of her and she of him. They couldn’t lose each other. They just couldn’t.

Instead Mal grits her teeth and keeps her distance and pretends that nothing is wrong. They all do. For a long time, even Jay is shivering from the chill of the air on his wet skin, wet clothes, and Carlos shakes visibly. But to leave now would be to abandon the barge, lose out on valuable things that won’t be there by the time that they get back. So the boys keeping working, freezing. They all work alongside each other, and no one even touches, for fear of the other Islanders thinking them soft or weak or ruined by their time in Wonderland. For fear of Chad thinking them perverted, tainted, unworthy. They need to be allowed back into Auradon, after all. And if Auradon saw them as they are – messy and vicious and selfish and wrong, it wouldn’t want them at all.

It’s time for Mal to turn her head to other things. Time to plan, to think about how to secure safety for the kids, how to see Evie sometime soon, how to keep Jay from driving himself crazy over Chad.

Chad, though. As Mal turns the memory over and over in her head, examining it from every angle, unable to stop it from replaying, she can’t ignore the way that Chad saw Gil lower his head toward Carlos, and Chad stepped aside. He’d been told to stay out of it. And usually, Mal would say Carlos could look out for himself.

But Gil was a big kid, a dense kid, and he dwarfed Carlos’s slender frame. Chad, on the other hand, tourney captain that’s been training for the sport since childhood, could take the pirate brat easily. But Chad didn’t. Chad stepped aside, so completely aside that Carlos didn’t even slam into him when he went flying backwards. He just went overboard.

Mal wishes she could stop thinking about Carlos going overboard.

Hours later, when the sky is full dark, and the moon is shining dimly through the clouds, Carlos is the first to peel off. There are still plenty of searchers among the stacks, but many have left, and Mal and her crew don’t usually stay this long. This time they just have so much to find. But finally, Carlos straightens. “Think I’ll head back.”

“We’ll walk with you,” the twins volunteer immediately.

“Me too,” Mal puts in. She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t resist the temptation.

The glower that Jay wears makes it all too clear how he feels about having Chad with him right now. “C’mon, Chad, we may as well get going. It’s too dark out here to be very productive anymore.”

There’s no argument from Chad, so the group makes their way to the front of the barge. When Jay and Carlos say goodbye, it’s with a wave, and the tension in the air is so thick Mal swears she could bite it. Fucking Chad.

The two split off, and the twins, Mal, and Carlos watch them go. As soon as they turn away from the barge, the twins are interrogating Carlos. “Are you okay?” Lydia demands, a frantic edge to her voice even hours later. “Carlos, are you-”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m just…tired. And everything hurts.” Carlos’s voice is rough and his shoulders are slumped and he’s not even making an effort to hide it. It’s as if he doesn’t care. He’s too busy watching the street that Jay disappeared on, as if any second the other will reappear.

“C’mon, Carlos.” Evie sighs. “Let’s get you home.”

There are a long few minutes of silence as they walk toward Hell Hall. “Carlos.” Mal uses her serious voice, her take-no-shit voice. “Are you actually okay?”

“Yeah.” His shoulders hunch. “Be better if we were all together and going to the treehouse and there weren’t fucking kids hiding there.” The words have no real heat. He’s not angry with the Auradonians. Carlos just sounds a little bit despairing, a little bit lost.

Walking beside him, Mal feels the lump in her throat grow until this just isn’t worth it anymore. She swings her hand forward and catches Carlos’s. She feels him stiffen in shock as they keep walking, holding hands.

“Aren’t you worried we’ll look soft?” he asks, finally.

“It’s dark out. Besides. I don’t care.” She squeezes his hand, as if to prove it, and he nods, and the rest of the walk to Hell Hall is silent.

They drop Carlos off, tell him goodbye in low voices, not sure when they’ll see him again, and each of the twins hug him, pulling him lightning-quick into a squeeze on the doorstep. When Lydia lets go of him, he’s smiling. Together on the street, the three girls wait until he’s through the door to keep moving. Now Mal’s jittery, nervous focus switches immediately to the twins, desperate for something to seize on, and within a few seconds it’s clear something is wrong with Lydia.

Before, Mal had assumed it was worry about Carlos, but now she notes the hunched shoulders, the miserable expression, and the fretting hands as something different. Something darker. She’s shying away from even Evie’s touch. Lydia won’t bring it up outright, but Mal knows it’s her job to soothe everyone’s ills. Usually, Carlos and Jay are best for each other, and Mal is best for Evie, and Evie’s best for Lyd. When one of the others fails, though, they all turn to Mal. She knows they do. She’s not always the best equipped to put their minds at ease, but when all else fails, she is the leader.

And it brings her some relief to have a useful job to do, so she bumps Lydia with her shoulder.

“Out with it.” Her voice is firm without being unkind.

Lydia hitches her shoulders and lets them fall, a small, helpless gesture. “I shouldn’t have used the acid.” She’s so quiet it’s hard to hear her, even on the silent street. “I…I…it wasn’t right. I hurt him…really badly.”

“He deserved it.” Mal is utterly unsympathetic, even though she knows it’s not the right thing to say. There’s still an icy fury coursing through her veins when she thinks about Gil. Fucking Gil. She hopes he rots. 

Beside her, Lydia remains unconvinced. “He wasn’t attacking Carlos anymore, or any of us. It was unprovoked. Not self-defense. And I went too far.”

“Says who?”

“Says common sense, Mal.” Lydia’s face is pained. “I…it’s not good. Not at all. Not, you know…” She struggles for the word. “Not moral. It was…really, _really_ fucked up.”

“It’s not like that,” Evie murmurs, and Lydia gives her an utterly wretched look. Brow furrowing, Mal looks between the two. There’s something here she’s missing. “It’s not like…” Evie swallows. “You’re not a bad person for this, Lyd.”

“You aren’t,” Mal agrees, distracted for the time being, though the moment and her questions remain in the back of her mind. “You did what you had to do.”

“I took revenge. I didn’t have to do that.”

“One of us would have. And I don’t care what kind of magic they have in the barrier, if it had been Jay, he would’ve found a way to kill that kid.” Mal snorts at the thought.

There’s a long moment where Mal can tell that Lydia is struggling. Fighting something in her head. Knowing better than to ask, Mal waits, and after a few minutes of silent walking, the words come out slowly, haltingly, as if brought up from a great depth.

“I don’t…I don’t want to be my mother.”

“You aren’t.” The answer is easy, automatic, and it brings Lydia no comfort. She swallows, tries again.

“I don’t want to hurt people and take pleasure from hurting people. I don’t want…I want to be better than that, Mal. Can’t…can’t you understand?” She looks pleading in the dim silvery light of the crescent moon above them, and the expression on her face is so vulnerable it makes Mal feel naked just looking at her. “I want to be worth something.”

“You…” Mal’s at a loss. “You, you are, Lydia. You’re worth…” she trails off, feeling small, feeling sappy. “You’re worth…everything, Lydia, come on, you must know that.”

“I want to be good.” Lydia whispers it to her own feet, not daring to look Mal or her sister in the eye. “I, I do. I want…I don’t want to be like Mother or the rest of the villains here. I want to be more. I want to be worth something.”

Mal knows none of her words will help. She sees the bare fear on Lydia’s face, sees the mirrored wanting in Evie’s pained expression. This is something she can’t order away, so she nods, though she wants so badly to tell Lydia to quit it, to cut it out, obviously she’s already better than just about anyone here. “I know,” Mal finally settles. “I’m sorry. I know.”

The three walk in silence for a time. “Chad saw,” Lydia points out, taking a shuddering breath. “Doesn’t matter if you think I’m good for anything, if he doesn’t. When it comes time to go back to Auradon…”

What she’s suggesting is too horrible to bear. “We’ll stand by you,” Mal finally says, because there’s nothing else. “We’ll stand by you, and we’ll speak for you, and we’ll make them understand. They weren’t here. They aren’t here. They have no idea what it’s like.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The three girls are standing outside Grimhilde’s castle now, and Mal’s frustrated and hopeless and doesn’t want to let this go. She wants them all together. Taking care of each other and keeping each other safe. The way it should be. Not this horrible, forced distance, and looking after all these kids, some of them basic strangers, and policing each other and themselves, and the threat of Auradon hanging over their heads all the time like a sword.

“We’ll get back there,” she settles on, and she doesn’t have to tell either twin what she means. “We will get back again. And I won’t go without you.” Lydia lets her eyes shut, nods with them still closed to hide her emotion. Now Mal turns to Evie, who’s been worried about her sister, but now her brow unknits, and she looks at Mal with a simple asking hunger that Mal knows she shouldn’t answer, can’t answer.

If only the twins didn’t have Audrey, and Mal didn’t have Ben and Cassia. Frustrated, Mal growls, but she still pulls Evie to her, and wraps her arms around Evie’s waist, and kisses her, hard and possessive.

“I miss you,” Evie sighs when they break apart, a cracking in her voice, and Mal nods. She knows what Evie means. It isn’t about sex. Just the kind of connection that they’ll only allow themselves to have when they’re alone. With Evie, with any of the others. Mal misses it, too. She misses the closeness, and yeah, okay, she misses the sex.

For Evie it goes deeper, darker, and Mal knows that. The twins’ insecurity is an open secret, but Mal doesn’t think the boys know just how bad it is. They’ve all seen Lydia and Evie skip meals, spend too much time picking out clothes for all the wrong reasons, and even voice a few of their ideas about themselves and their looks – always completely divorced from reality.

But as far as she knows, it’s only Mal that’s seen Evie break down and panic over it, over not being pretty enough or skinny enough. Being completely unable to believe that Mal, or anyone, could be attracted to her, far less love her.

And Mal knows that losing the physical side of their relationship has only made those physical insecurities worse. 

“I’ll see you,” she tells the twins softly. “Our next meeting is Monday, again. See how everyone’s doing.”

As she nods her assent, Mal can see Evie swallow. That’s five days from now. A ridiculously long time, in their world where they’re used to living on top of each other. “But I’ll see you before then.” Mal can’t stop herself, has to add it, and it’s worth it for the smiles that turn up the twins’ lips. Not even happiness, just relief, like seeing Mal is more of a need than a want.

She waits until the two of them are inside before she starts toward Maleficent’s castle. The events of the day spin through her head. CJ’s challenge, Gil’s attack, Chad’s seeming duplicity. The thought of losing Carlos and then Jay, which still makes her shudder. How their actions would’ve looked from the outside – good, she decides.

Now, why did Lydia have acid on her? Is that an ingredient in one of her potions? And is it another show of Mal’s fundamental evil that she can’t find anything wrong with what Lydia did? On the contrary – there was nothing more comforting, in her circling wheel of thoughts, than remembering the way Gil’s face had seemed to melt away.

How could she possibly explain that to Auradonians? The fierce, roaring satisfaction she’d felt, knowing her people were protected and safe, knowing that he’d gotten only what he deserved? It had felt like justice to her. It had felt like balance. Groaning, Mal shakes her head. She’s not going to torture herself when there aren’t even any Auradonians around to do it for.

She’s at the foot of the stairs and pauses for a moment to listen. There’s no sound from above. Ben and Cassia must be asleep. It is late – past midnight, according to Evie. Not a bad barge haul for the day. Really, by their normal standards, this is huge. Mal can’t feel satisfied with that, not remotely, not after what happened out there. Discontented as she is, she’s also exhausted by the events of the day, and so she’s asleep almost before her head hits the pillow.

*

The next thing she knows, Ben is on top of her. Confused, Mal tries to squirm away, but he’s holding her down, and he won’t answer her when she asks what the hell he’s doing. Time seems to be moving very slowly, or else very quickly. Mal can’t seem to get a handle on what’s going on, can’t bring herself fully awake.

Above her, Ben’s eyes are positively animal, and gleam in the dim moonglow that pours through the window. He’s naked, and his bare chest is lightly furred, and he’s moving her sheets around. Mal’s breath catches in her throat as she realizes what’s going on. She barely has the presence of mind to note, with detachment, that he’s bigger than she thought he’d be.

And then he’s inside her. It doesn’t make sense – her mind rejects the information – but he’s inside her. It’s not like Jay and Carlos, bodies she knows so well they might as well be her own. This is foreign, alien, wrong. Mal groans around the intrusion, grits her teeth and shakes her head. “N-no,” she squeaks out, as he thrusts in deeper, and her body protests at the dry stretch. “No – fuck – Ben, stop it. Stop it. What the fuck?”

He ignores her, and he has her wrists pinned above her head, and writhing underneath him only hurts her, down where the two of them are pinned together. She stops to try to breathe, try to pick apart the half-asleep, desperately confused thoughts in her head. He rocks in again, and she whines, high in her throat.

It goes on and on – the rocking, the splitting her open little by little. Things go hazy, Mal doesn’t understand why she’s still so dazed, why she doesn’t fight and scream and scratch him, but she doesn’t. She just lies there, and then he takes one hand off her wrist and moves it down between her legs, plays with her until she’s wet.

After that, things go a lot more smoothly, a lot more quickly. And Mal gets wetter, and wonders what the hell is happening to her. And more importantly, why the fuck she isn’t fighting it. She’s not attracted to Ben, in fact, he’s almost alien in this light, doing this to her. She keeps asking him to stop, begging him to stop. But instead he just keeps working away above her, grunting and gasping, his floppy brown hair falling over his bright, bright blue eyes, and _this is the future king,_ and _this is her ex-boyfriend,_ and he’s, well, he’s raping her.

Ben comes inside her, and Mal is soaking wet, although she doesn’t want to be, and for one, incredible moment, as he slumps over her, still buried in her, she wants to rock her hips against his, wants to seek the pleasure that’s now denied her-

And then Mal wakes up.

Her first feeling is one of relief. The world makes sense again. Or, it makes some kind of sense. Ben is not above her, never was above her. The boy too pure to hold her hand in front of his ex is not sneaking in and raping her in her bed while she sleeps. Awake, alert, and aware of the trick her mind has played on her, Mal can’t believe that even the strange logic of dreams convinced her mind that that could happen. The moon falling out of the sky would be more believable.

A questing hand beneath the covers proves what Mal already suspected was true. She is wet, her panties actually soaked through. _What the fuck?_ She’s never, ever been into that kind of thing, doesn’t even like relinquishing control when it’s a game and she knows someone is going to please her. She’s never been much into penetration either, though she’ll do it to feel close to Jay and Carlos, to please them when she wants.

 _Why the fuck is she getting off from a dream about Ben raping her?_ Mal squirms in her bed, not used to feeling this shame, even with things that would make high-minded Auradonians recoil. She doesn’t care about having sex, or starting young, or fucking both boys and girls, or fucking three of her closest friends, or even when it happens all at once. All of that is normal for her, standard, nothing to be embarrassed about.

But enjoying a fantasy about a good, pure, sweet boy forcing her? It’s not how she wants to think about Ben, and not how she wants to think about herself. It reminds her of Lydia’s desperate question, earlier in the night, the one she hadn’t given voice to, but that Mal had read in her face plain as day.

_How could I be a good person? When I do shit like this, how could I possibly be considered a good person?_

It’s just a dream, Mal tells herself. It’s just a stupid, bizarre dream, and it’s been a stressful day, and hopefully she’ll roll over and forget about it in the morning.

When Mal closes her eyes, it’s Princess Cassia, this time. There’s no prelude, just Mal closing her eyes and opening them to see Cassia on top of her, her knees on either side of Mal’s head, her head thrown back. There’s no memory of the encounter with Ben, no understanding that this is just another dream. Mal doesn’t know why she obeys, but as the dream goes on, a hazy reason becomes clear – Cassia threatened the twins, yes, she said she’d hurt Lydia and Evie, so Mal obeys, and Cassia moans and rocks above her and Mal doesn’t wake until Cassia comes.

*

Again, Mal is left lying in her bed wondering what the hell is wrong with her. She’s wet, from _that,_ the dream of eating out Cassia when that’s something she knows she has no interest in. She doesn’t even think Cassia swings that way. If she does, it’s nothing that anyone in Auradon knows about, far less Mal.

It’s a stress dream, Mal tells herself, some kind of bizarre manifestation of anxiety. She tries to stop thinking about it, tries to close her eyes –

But then she opens her eyes again. When she thinks about it, Mal finds that she doesn’t actually want to risk falling asleep, not again. She sits up and heads to her desk. If she’s not sleeping, she’ll at least spend the time making some plans. It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a loooong chapter, but hope y'all liked it. Also want to be clear - the noncon with Mal was a *dream* - super OOC for Ben and Cassia and that is not how I'm writing them so I wanted to emphasize that.  
> Anyway, lots happened here so please let me know what you think in the comments! Thanks also for your patience and understanding, I know updates have been super sporadic and I'm hoping to be more consistent about that in the next few weeks :)


	22. mysterious in any light

The most exciting part of the royals’ day is when the messenger comes. The same bland food is served to them every morning and evening, with such regularity that they can pretty well keep time off of it. Adam has used a chip of stone to draw little lines into the wall for every day they’ve been in the dungeons. This morning, while Belle watched, he stood up and put a diagonal slash through four upright bars. Five days since the door slammed shut behind them. Five days of arguing and uncertainty and endless hours in the flickering torchlight. Five days since they’ve seen their children or known that their kids are okay.

It feels like weeks.

Weeks of pacing, weeks of quiet, weeks of murmured conversation that it still feels like everyone around can hear. Belle thinks she’s going crazy, if not from the worry, then from the boredom. She almost wishes she had a book, although she doubts she could focus on reading right now. Even if she could, everyone around her would think her a monster for cracking open a novel at a time like this. Maybe they’d be right, but at least Belle wouldn’t feel like her brain is slowly draining out her ears from lack of stimulation.

Besides the occasional roaring argument, usually provoked by Duke Philip or Queen Merida, the only interesting thing that happens is when the messenger brings in the news. Now that they’re reasonably sure Vlasta isn’t going through their mail, the royals have been writing plenty of letters. So far they’ve heard from Queen Elsa, Queen Kida, and the royal advisors currently running Maldonia. The lack of word from Olympus is setting the high council on edge. All of the royals are trying to coordinate responses from home, and the Auradonians sit twiddling their thumbs because everyone that they might try to put in charge are already housed in different prisons around the castle, or in the cell block across the hall.

Other royals have better luck with their stand-ins. Princess Melody is still safe in Atlantica, and she writes her parents a quick missive, doubtless overwhelmed by the responsibility now resting on her young shoulders with both of her parents locked away. When Queen Rapunzel and King Flynn hear from their son, King Flynn holds the letter in his hands for hours, just turning it over and over again. When Commander Mulan receives a note from her daughter, Lonnie, she almost loses her legs. She and Commander Li Shang had written a note on the off chance that Vlasta would deliver it, and now all the royals were assured that they could contact their children if they wished.

All those, of course, whose children weren’t already on the Island. Belle kept her bitter jealousy hidden when Sultan Jasmine exclaimed over a letter from Aziz, or when Fairy Godmother thanked her lucky stars that Jane was still safe.

She should be happy for them, Belle knew. She should smile through her pain. Instead, she finds her heart make horrible, dark deals with the devil – oh yes, she’d trade her friends’ happiness for her own peace of mind.

When the letter comes for Queen Merida, Belle knows that at least the other woman isn’t receiving word from her children. Of all the people that wouldn’t bother Belle, she thinks she’d most like the DunBroch ruler to hear from her kids. It might make the woman and her wife just a little bit less combative.

As per usual, the messenger steps into the room, stops in front of Queen Merida’s cell, and reads the names of the recipient and the sender aloud for the whole room to hear. And Belle’s heart just about stops in her chest.

“A letter for Queen Merida,” comes the dry, indifferent voice, “from the sorcerer Yen Sid.”

It’s then that Belle knows the messenger, one of Vlasta’s many servants, must be a manufactured creature. Nothing that felt real emotions could stay impassive when their news garnered a reaction like this one.

There’s a collective moment of stunned silence.

“That’s not-”

“How did she-”

“What do they _say?”_

It’s pure chaos. All of them are shouting at each other, at the messenger, at Queen Merida, and Vlasta’s servant turns as if he’s going to leave. “Wait!”

Belle shouts to make herself heard above the din, and her raised voice is such an unusual occurrence that it brings a moment of silence. “How?”

She doesn’t feel the need to clarify and she doesn’t need to. The messenger nods. “Queen Merida’s letter was delivered on the garbage barge. Yen Sid’s letter was passed back through the barrier the same way.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Belle murmurs, brow knitted, but no one is paying any attention to her.

“You can’t…you can’t open that letter!” blusters Adam. “Yen Sid is a traitor to my nation. They could, they could…opening that letter is treason!”

“I’m not an Auradonian national, _sire.”_ Queen Merida rolls her eyes mightily. “I can’t commit treason against you.”

Still furious, Adam tries desperately to think of another objection, but he’s drowned out by the voices of parents desperate to hear about the fate of their children. “Read the letter!” begs King Kristoff from down the hall. “Please, read it aloud.”

“Wait, first, what did you write them? What did you say and what did you ask? What’re they responding to?” Commander Mulan shoots Adam an apologetic look and Belle’s husband tosses his head. He doesn’t like that they’re talking about it at all, but Adam still knows they should get as much information as possible. Scowling, he waits for Queen Merida’s answer.

“I asked what the conditions were on the Island, if our kids would be safe, and if they could look out for all of them,” Queen Merida replies distractedly, busy scanning the lines of the scroll Yen Sid has sent her. There’s a disappointed slump to her shoulders before she speaks, so Belle steels herself for bad news. She’s been getting plenty of it lately, anyway.

“They say…they say the conditions are awful. Things have only gotten worse in the past fifteen years. Trash everywhere. Not enough food, and what they get is low quality. The air quality is awful from the pollution. Most of the initial construction is in disrepair, so a lot of homes are in danger of collapsing. Electricity is unreliable. Running water is unreliable. Gods above, Adam, did you do anything to look after those people?”

“We thought they’d be able to look after themselves,” murmurs Fairy Godmother weakly. Adam doesn’t bother to respond.

“They say of our children, those staying with royals are best off. Hell Hall is in serious disrepair.” Queen Merida swallows. That’s where her children are staying. “The children are in danger. Yen Sid can’t help…”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Queen Anna tries to sound angry, but she just sounds scared.

“Well, they don’t say if it’s can’t or won’t, but the result’s the same either way, isn’t it?” snaps Queen Merida.

“What else do they say?”

Scanning down the next few lines, Queen Merida shakes her head. “Nothing worthwhile. Just that we have to rely on the Island kids to look out for ours. Some writing about how this could’ve been prevented. Useless.”

“Not useless,” Duchess Ainsley tries softly, but her wife rounds on her, glaring.

“I don’t care how it could’ve been prevented! It wasn’t prevented! It’s happening, and all I care about is our children’s safety. _I_ didn’t put any villains on that Island! I didn’t deprive them of basic necessities until they were half mad or half dead.”

“Oh, shut up.” Duke Philip’s voice is absolutely withering, and Belle swallows hard. At least Adam wasn’t the one to break. “You’ve never been attacked by a sorceress or a fae. You didn’t have any villains to send to the damn Island. So don’t lecture us when it’s just that you’ve gotten lucky all this time!”

Face screwing up in indignation, Queen Merida is about to speak when her wife lays a hand on her arm and interrupts. “DunBroch has had plenty of our own struggles. We just choose to deal with them differently.”

Rolling his eyes, Duke Philip snorts. “And how do you suggest we deal with our villains? What’s the perfect way you deal with yours in DunBroch, hmm?”

“I don’t shove them off on an Island and forget about them!”

“I didn’t ask what you don’t do, I asked what you do.” Tone still scathing, Duke Philip glares at Queen Merida, leaning out between the bars so she can see his scowl.

Before they can keep bickering, Duchess Cinderella cuts in, and not a moment too soon. “That’s it, then?” Her voice is quiet, strained. “Yen Sid can’t help us, and our children will have to rely on the mercy of the Islanders?”

Coming back to herself, Queen Merida looks down at the letter in her hands as if maybe it will say something different this time. “Yes. That’s all it says.”

Fairy Godmother is the first to break the silence that follows. She speaks slowly. “It’s…not like Yen Sid, to be petulant like that.” Her voice is sorrowful. “I can only hope…maybe they’ll have a change of heart. Back down on this ridiculous stand they’ve taken.”

“Maybe it’s not so ridiculous,” mutters Queen Merida, and Fairy Godmother’s eyes narrow.

“Whatever Yen Sid’s opinion may be on our handling of the Island, it is wrong to take it out on innocent children, and they know that. You should, too.” Fairy Godmother’s tone is that of a lecturing schoolteacher, and she speaks with such unimpeachable authority that it works – Queen Merida ducks her head, cowed.

Steeling herself, Belle breaks the silence. “I…I still don’t understand how the letter got through the barrier.”

“The messenger said it went on the barge, Queen Belle.” Commander Mulan thinks she’s being helpful, but really she’s just making Belle look like an idiot.

“Yes, I know, but…” Not liking all of the attention on her, Belle draws in a steadying breath, determined to make her point. “Without the King’s seal on the letter, that shouldn’t have worked. It shouldn’t have gotten through, even on the barge.”

“Queen, I _hardly_ think that Vlasta’s policy on mail delivery is our top priority right now.” Queen Merida’s tone is dismissive enough to be completely disrespectful, and as Belle flushes, she sees Adam’s hands clench into fists.

Keeping her voice level and calm, Belle places a hand on her husband’s shoulder as she responds, squeezing his arm to tell him to calm. “I understand your frustration, Queen Merida. My children are also on the Island, and I’m scared for them.”

As she knew it would, Belle’s laying bare of Merida’s real fears silenced the other woman and made her just a little ashamed of the way she’d talk to Belle. Now the queen forged ahead. “I think if Vlasta did somehow break the barrier, it’s an important clue about how powerful she is, what her magic is really like.” Belle’s grasping at straws and she knows it, but at least she makes it sound good. There’s just _something_ about this letter that’s bothering her, and she can’t quite put it into words, but if she only had some time…

“You’re right,” agrees Fairy Godmother kindly, sounding like she thinks she’s doing Belle a favor. “There could certainly be something we’re missing.”

Belle knows she’s being dismissed, but she doesn’t care, as long as she gets her hands on that letter. “May I see it?” she asks. “To…just to look, to figure out if there’s anything…?”

“Of course,” Queen Merida agrees, but she parts with it reluctantly, handing it to Duchess Ainsley first, who holds it, for a long moment, in her hands. 

“Do…do you mind if I read it first?” Duchess Ainsley asks, and there’s a raw hunger in her face, a wanting that Belle recognizes. Anything to feel close to one’s children.

“Yes, yes of course. In fact…I hope you won’t think I’m amiss to suggest everyone read it. All the parents. I’ll, ah, I’ll look last, and maybe see if there’s anything…anything I can find there.” Belle finishes lamely, but it doesn’t matter, because all of the parents with missing children are looking up eagerly, desperate to hold a real communication from the Island in their hands.

As the letter is passed down the hall to King Kristoff and Queen Anna, Belle retreats to her cot to lie down and wait. and try to puzzle out what it is that’s bothering her. Maybe when she has the letter in her hands she’ll know. There’s something here that they’re forgetting, or overlooking, or just not seeing. She just knows it. She does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick chapter but I have lots more on the way! Stay tuned :)


	23. sung me moonstruck, kissed me quite insane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw here, but nothing noncon!

They were supposed to wait until Monday, but Evie and Mal don’t even last through Friday. Lydia isn’t surprised in the least. Not eating on barge day is harsh, even for Grimhilde, and even though their fast is lifted on Thursday, Grimhilde doesn’t let either twin get more than a few bites at breakfast before she snatches their food away.

“Don’t you ever sneak food?” Audrey can’t help whispering, because she and the twins are back up in the tower, the two working on projects, and Audrey can _hear_ their stomachs rumbling.

The twins exchange glances, and Evie bites her lip. “It’s…it’s risky.”

“Risky _how?”_ Audrey wrinkles her nose. “There have to be some places where she can’t see you – up here, or in the treehouse.”

Swallowing, Evie hunches her shoulders a little, buckling around her work. “If…if we don’t, y’know, lose weight like we’re supposed to.”

Appalled, Audrey shakes her head. “You guys are – what’re you talking about?” Neither Evie nor Lydia will meet her eyes. “There’s _no way_ she’s going to realize you’ve eaten by looking at you. Both of you are…scary skinny already.”

“Thanks,” Lydia smiles unconvincingly.

“That’s not a compliment,” mutters Audrey, feeling sick to her stomach, but she drops it. The twins, especially Evie, have been a little…fragile, after their fasting and then the barge incident with Carlos.

Barge night. Audrey shudders, just thinking about it. That night, Evie and Lydia had come home shaken in the early hours of the morning, and when Audrey asked a few too few questions, Lydia had burst into tears. Big, gulping tears that had her fleeing into Evie’s arms.

“I’m so sorry!” Audrey had yelped, horrified, but Evie had shaken her head.

“Not your fault.”

But Evie had never explained whose fault it was. Instead they just threw themselves back into sewing and potion making and bending over backwards to please Grimhilde. Though it’s an impossible task, the twins can’t stop doing whatever they can to make their mother happy, nor can they ignore her viciousness when they inevitably fail.

Grimhilde loves to pit them against each other, and though the twins don’t attack each other the way their mother clearly wishes they would, it’s a painful trap to be caught in nonetheless. Even the twin that’s safe for the moment has to watch her sister attacked, and the loser gets berated by Grimhilde. One feels guilty and the other feels crushed. It’s a competition no one wants to be in, which never, ever seems to end.

Then, Friday night, there’s a rapping on the dusty glass of their window. Evie’s face lights up like a little kid’s when she sees blonde hair blowing in the wind outside. Of course, the first thing out of her mouth is a reprimand, as she helps Mal through the window.

“We didn’t put the ladder down!”

Mal smirks, dusting off her hands on her pants. “I know. I’m the one that had to climb up here with only the stone for footholds.”

“You could’ve been _killed,”_ Evie puts her hands on her hips and tries to lecture, but there’s a smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Rolling her eyes, Mal turns to Lydia, a matching impish grin on her face. “Can I borrow her? Please? Just a few hours?”

“What are you asking me for?” Lydia rolls her eyes, but she’s looking at them both fondly, and there’s no heat behind her words.

Smiling fit to burst, Evie glances over at Audrey. “Don’t give her any trouble, Auradon brat.”

Snorting, Audrey waves a hand. “Get out of here, Island trash.”

Bemused, Mal looks from the twins to Audrey. She shakes her head, electing to stay quiet on the exchange, and then makes to swing back out the window.

“Wait!” Evie sounds exasperated. “Let me put the ladder down, dumbass.”

“Fi-ine,” Mal gripes, rolling her eyes while Evie tosses out yards and yards of fabric ladder. Knowing the twins, it’ll hold strong, but Audrey still swallows, seeing the dirty cloth that’s supposed to hold the two up.

The girls in question have none of her reservations. First Mal, then Evie slip out the window and down the ladder, with Evie tossing a quick goodbye up to Lydia and Audrey, more of an afterthought than anything else.

Once they’re gone, Audrey can’t resist asking. “So?”

“So what?”

“Don’t be difficult, Lyd.” The Islander smiles but offers nothing. “C’mon, tell me about Mal and Evie!”

“What about them?” Lydia is focused as ever on the potion ingredients she’s crushing and dicing and measuring out. Audrey heaves a dramatic sigh.

“What…what are they? Are they…you know, girlfriends?”

“They’re something.” Lydia smiles, not a smirk, but a real, genuine, happy smile. It’s so rare on the Island that Audrey takes the moment just to watch Lydia. Noticing Audrey looking, Lydia blushes and looks away.

“What about you?” Audrey asks, wanting to bring that smile back to Lydia’s face, and saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you…have anyone?”

Now Lydia’s smile is something small and secret that Audrey doesn’t understand. “I have Evie, and Mal, and Carlos, and Jay.”

“But are you…seeing anyone?”

“My eyes work just fine, thank you.”

“Lydi- _a.”_

Taking pity on her, Lydia shrugs. “No, I don’t _have_ anyone.” Her tone of voice conveys the disdain she has for the idea. “Not looking, either.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not interested.”

“Well…why not?”

Hesitating, Lydia puts her potion supplies down for a second as she thinks. She might as well tell Audrey the truth. It’ll be the very least of the secrets that the Auradonian knows about her. “I’m really, really just not interested. I don’t…I don’t know. Whatever it is that draws people to each other. I don’t have that.”

“What do you mean, don’t have it?” Lydia rolls her eyes, but Audrey is fascinated. “You don’t get crushes?”

“Haven’t had any yet.”

Fascinated, Audrey stops to ponder that for a minute. “Why not?”

Lydia sets her pestle down. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe you haven’t met the right person yet?”

“Maybe.” Lydia sounds spectacularly unconvinced.

There are a few moments of quiet while Audrey puzzles over this revelation. After a moment, she sets it aside. “Mal and Evie though?”

There’s that smile again, on Lydia’s face. “Mal and Evie.”

Mal and Evie themselves are currently racing through town, Evie giggling like mad while Mal fights to stay stoic. Usually, they’d just meet up at Mal’s, or head to the treehouse, but with the Auradon kids absolutely all over the place, that’s not really an option. Once their feet hit the ground, Mal breathlessly suggested the dump on the edge of town, and Evie had nodded, eyes sparkling. Then, Mal had had to turn quickly and start walking, nearly trotting, because if she kept looking at Evie, when Evie looked like that…

Well, they’d never make it to the dump, that’s for sure.

The dump. Evie grimaces just thinking about it. On the edge of town, there’s a gathering place for all the junk that doesn’t make it onto the barge – not that any of the villains haul it there themselves. Once a week, the ship comes in from Auradon, and with it the barge golems. They’re shambling, hulking, shadowy beasts, utterly harmless and utterly mindless. Anything an Islander wanted disposed of could be wrapped in a black garbage bag and left in town, and when the barge came, the golems would wander off it and haul the bags and their contents back onto the barge, for when it left the next morning. The trouble was getting the inhabitants of the Island to even bother putting their garbage into a bag.

Truth be told, necessary and useful as they could be, most everyone on the Isle hated the golems. They were bad luck. Even the more feared figures on the Isle would cross the street to avoid passing one. It wasn’t just their blank faces – literally blank, because when they’d been sculpted, their creators hadn’t seen fit to give them anything besides eyes.

No, the reason the golems were universally hated and feared was because as well as being equipped to search out black garbage bags, they were fine-tuned to find and dispose of the dead. Perhaps the Islanders should have been grateful the little land they had wasn’t overrun with corpses. But anyone who had bumped into one of the massive, seven-foot creatures, and come face to face with a stringy-haired, stiffened, wide-eyed corpse…

It was no wonder even the adults fled at their approach.

Feared as they were, everything the golems touched became anathema, and that included the dump at the edge of town. When something was too large to be carried to the barge, but was wrapped or draped in black plastic bags to indicate its worthlessness, the dutiful soldiers dragged whatever it was – furniture, usually, or bits of derelict housing, or, in the early days, even cars – out to the edge of town, where a makeshift junkyard ranged and grew. There were goods to be had there, wood and metal to be scrounged, and it said a lot about the fear the golems commanded that few entered the sandy lot. Golem footprints sat untouched for weeks, until the next time a giant clay foot trod heedlessly across the marks.

Evie doesn’t like to think herself superstitious. But she’s never set foot in that junkyard herself, even when they were building the treehouse, and badly needed the wood that sat out in the open, completely available.

Now, though, it’s the one place that Mal can think of where they won’t be bothered, so she leads Evie to the gate and Evie ignores the shiver that passes through her when she slips through. The ground here is soft and the dust easily disturbed, so the creeping teens are careful to drag their feet as they walk, obscuring the shape of their footprints.

The whole walk here Mal’s hand was tight around Evie’s, all but dragging her along. They moved so fast through the streets and alleys they knew by heart that Evie hadn’t been paying attention to Mal’s cold hand in hers, but now they’re walking slower, and she takes a moment to notice the way everything in her brain seems to calm when Mal’s around.

It doesn’t make sense, given that she’s so wildly insecure, but somehow as soon as the blonde lays eyes on her, Evie feels quiet steal over her. It’s something about the way Mal looks, something about the fire behind her eyes. Fire that says _I want you, yes, you,_ and _you are mine,_ and _I am the Daughter of Evil; I do not make mistakes._

It’s enough to drown out even Grimhilde’s shrill voice, if only for a little while.

There’s plenty to talk about – Carlos going overboard, and the way the twins have both been waking up gasping because they’re having nightmares about it. The simple fact of the pirate boys’ challenge, and whether the acid to Gil’s face was answer enough. Even the boring, humdrum, day-to-day itemization of each Auradonian and whether they’ve eaten, been checked on, how the poor precious babies are all doing –

But if Mal wanted to talk about that, they would’ve stayed in the tower with Lydia, and so when they find a suitable spot to duck in, Evie doesn’t hesitate.

They’re in the backseat of a car, of all things, and as she all but tackles Mal in a kiss, Evie wants to giggle about how they’re finally checking off this Auradon rite of passage, hooking up in the back of a car. For a moment she wants to pause, tell Mal about the trashy teen romances she and Lyd tore through while they were on Auradon, and how _every_ protagonist seemed to lose their virginity in the nonexistent backseat of a truck.

It’s the kind of thing that would make Mal snort and roll her eyes but suddenly Evie’s having a hard –

She’s having a hard time…thinking…quite straight.

The first round goes so fast it makes Evie’s head spin. Mal is tearing at her clothes like they haven’t touched in months, and it awakens something in Evie that makes her growl into Mal’s mouth, push back, do some undressing in return. It’s rough but Evie can’t say she minds it; it’s possessive and raw and desperate and real. Each bite, each bruise, is just on the sweet right side of painful, and though she knows it isn’t smart to leave marks for Grimhilde to find, Evie _purrs_ at the idea of Mal leaving claiming marks on her skin, of having Evie’s marks on hers.

Both girls come gasping, Evie first, because Mal always wins, and then Mal, because Evie’s too stubborn not to get her way eventually. Though they’re panting, when Evie finally looks up from her place on the floor of the car between Mal’s legs, the blonde pulls her up immediately for another kiss. This time it’s long and slow and deliberate, everything they didn’t seem to have time for just minutes ago. It’s enough to make Evie melt, and then Mal pulls back, tucks a loose strand of dark hair behind Evie’s ear. “I missed you, babe,” she says, her voice low, gravelly. Evie swallows hard, feeling a familiar burn behind her eyes.

Oh. Oh, she can’t cry over _that._

But Mal seems determined, whether she knows it or not, to make Evie bawl into her shoulder before they’re done. She lays Evie on her back on the cracked leather of the backseat and kisses her face, neck, collarbone. “You’re so pretty,” she sighs into Evie’s neck, and Evie’s fighting a losing battle, digging her fingernails into her palms trying to keep sniffles at bay. Mal just keeps kissing her, almost feverish, still murmuring. “Fuck, Evie, I can’t keep…not seeing you, you’re too good for me, I, I feel like I need you.”

That’s what breaks Evie. “Ma-al!” It bursts from her lips, almost a croak, and then she’s weeping, fast and silent, and reaching for the blonde, who brushes her hair back and kisses each salty drop as it snakes down her face.

“Shhh, baby, it’s all right-”

“Shit, Dais, turns out they did get soft.”

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, both girls shoot upright. In a matter of seconds, Evie’s tears are dry, and Mal is scrambling to her feet, throwing every four-letter word she knows at the makers of this car for leaving her no goddamn room in the backseat.

There’s no time to put clothes on. Scrambling to dress themselves would only provoke snickers from whoever’s outside, and judging by the high tone of the voice, it’s either another young woman or a kid. Taking the chance, Mal glances back at Evie, and Evie nods. The two of them swing open the door and emerge from the backseat naked. Evie does her best to look fierce and ready for a fight, ignoring the squirming doubt in her stomach.

Based on the awed, unsure looks they’re getting from _fucking_ Blaze and _fucking_ Daisy, it’s working about halfway.

“What’re you doing here?” Mal takes the lead, stepping in front of Evie as if to protect her, as if they aren’t both naked in broad daylight in the junkyard.

“What’re you talking about?” Blaze wrinkles her nose. “This’s _our_ spot. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I can go wherever the fuck I want.” Mal’s voice is icy, and it works – Blaze is cowed – but goddammit, there’s two of them.

“Blazey’s right, though.” Daisy’s eyes are darting between the two of them, wide and evaluative. “We heard you. You guys got soft.”

“Whatever you _think_ you heard-”

“We know what we heard.” They’re building off each other, gaining confidence. “You were – she was crying, and-”

“Don’t even _look_ at her,” snarls Mal, her panic making her so overprotective that Evie has to roll her eyes. Stepping up beside the blonde, Evie gives her a reassuring nod, and then turns to the other two girls, who don’t seem to know whether to take Mal’s looking rule seriously or not.

“It’s fine,” Evie tells them, and when they do look, Evie can’t help preening just a little at the way Blaze’s jaw goes slack, and Daisy swallows, just a little, seeing her naked. Not everyone has as discriminating an eye as Grimhilde. “Listen, whatever you heard…or _think_ you heard…” The afterthought is more of an appeasement for Mal than anything else because it’s damn clear what happened – “we’re willing to work with you. So tell us what you want.”

“What we…want?”

Huffing, Mal crosses her arms, and Evie shoots her a warning look. “What you want from us,” Evie explains patiently. “Obviously, the…what you saw and heard is leverage. You could go around telling people and try to ruin our reputation. We don’t want that. We’re willing to work with you to keep you quiet. Make sense?”

There’s only a hint of sarcasm, and it seems to fly over Blaze and Daisy’s wide-eyed heads. “Wha…uh, okay,” Blaze agrees tentatively, looking at Daisy for confirmation.

“Good. Now what is it that you want?”

“Food,” Daisy answers immediately. She doesn’t even need to look to Blaze for confirmation. Keeping her face blank, Evie nods. They’re already supporting too many as is, but Daisy’s thinking small, and that’s good. “Um…um, protection-”

Less good, Evie thinks, fighting the urge to wince.

“Wait.” Blaze’s brow is furrowed. “Wait, uh…what…what happened?”

Evie tips her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what was it like over there?”

Mystified, Evie shakes her head. “Why do you care?”

Reddening, Blaze glances at Daisy for support, but her partner looks just as confused. “Just…what happened? What’d they do over there that made you two go soft?”

“Does it matter?”

Blaze is nervous enough to be chewing on her lip, but she nods defiantly. “Yeah. I want to know.”

“Well…” Now it’s Evie’s turn to be uncertain, to glance over at Mal. “I mean, we didn’t have to be tough. No one else was.”

“But…but it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?” Mal sounds exasperated, on edge, and Evie wants to grab her hand and squeeze it, but she can’t, not in front of these girls.

On second thought, they already know. Feeling a little giddy at the freedom, Evie reaches over and grabs Mal’s hand. The blonde stiffens, but then she squeezes back. Daisy’s eyes go huge, and Blaze looks vindicated.

“That’s what I mean! It’s not just…it’s not just not being tough, you know?”

“No,” Mal says flatly, but Evie thinks she gets it, and Blaze isn’t dissuaded by Mal’s tone.

“Like, you’re not just…not-tough, you’re…nice to each other. Good to each other. You know? What is that?”

Blaze’s question is so earnest that Evie has to smile, just a little. Mal, apparently, feels differently because the scowl on her face hasn’t budged. “She’s mine,” Mal retorts haughtily. “I don’t feel the need to make stupid power plays about it.”

“It’s not just that you already know she’s yours,” pushes Blaze. “It’s the, you know, the looking after each other part. The caring that she cried thing.”

Bristling, Mal opens her mouth to snap at Blaze’s spying, at her presumption, but finds she has nothing to say and just growls instead. Finally, there’s nothing for her to say but a repetition of her earlier question. “Why do you care?”

“Because that’s how we are.” Blaze says it baldly, and Daisy has a complicated look on her face – fear at admitting this, but also a tenderness at hearing it aloud. Evie knows that feeling. Evie’s feeling it now. “We’re soft like that and we…were you always like that?”

“Yes,” Evie answer readily, having made her mind up. She ignores the incredulous look Mal shoots her, and then rolls her eyes when Mal jerks on her arm. “Oh, come on, it’s pointless lying about it. Yes. We…we’ve always really cared for each other. That’s…I mean that’s normal, Blaze. Not here, but everywhere else…that’s how people work.”

Fascinated, Blaze shakes her head. “So you just…pretended, then?”

“Of fucking course,” Mal snaps, mood growing blacker by the minute. “You know better than anyone that’s not how the Isle works.”

“But…but it is how Auradon works?” There’s something that almost sounds like hope in Blaze’s voice, and it makes Evie swallow hard.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, that’s what Auradon is like.”

“Damn.” Blaze sounds reverent, and the lump in Evie’s throat is only growing.

“Okay, if that’s all your questions, and food and protection is what you want, then I think we’re done here.” Mal’s businesslike tone cuts clean through the strange, tense moment hanging between them all.

“We, um, we need to work out what protection means.” Daisy is trying to mimic Mal’s crisp, quick style, but she’s too nervous.

Waving a hand, Mal dismisses her. “We can do that later. Evie and I need to be getting back home.”

“Wait!” It’s Blaze, and Mal poorly conceals an eye roll. “Wait, so are you guys…are you…the Auradon stuff…”

She’s floundering, clearly doesn’t know how to ask what she wants to ask, but the longing is there, and Evie can’t resist it. Oh, Auradon has made her soft – but in another life, the pair in front of them could be herself and Mal.

“We’re also looking out for the Auradonians,” Evie blurts out, and next to her, she hears Mal’s carefully controlled sigh and knows that she’s angry. A nervous chill runs down her spine, but Evie’s in too deep now. “We’re, we’re looking out for all of them and trying not to hurt people here unnecessarily because-”

“Evie!”

“Because Auradon was so much better than here,” Evie finishes wistfully. “Not thinking about being tough all the time, not having to worry about being attacked…being able to love people…out loud, you know?”

The longing look in Blaze’s eyes is almost too much to bear. Even in her sympathy, Evie has a moment of sharp horror, seeing that much vulnerability in someone’s eyes.

“ _Thank_ you, for that explanation,” Mal snaps. She doesn’t seem to know what game Blaze is playing, but she sure doesn’t trust the church girl. “Now I really think we’ll be going now.”

“Wait!” There’s desperation in Blaze’s voice, and yes, hope. “Can we help?”

Even Evie blinks at that. “Help…what?”

Blushing deep red, Blaze hitches her shoulders up in a bashful shrug. “Help…feed everyone, I guess. Or look after them.”

“Why would you do that.” Mal’s voice is so flat it’s hardly a question. Across from her, a strained Daisy looks like she wants to demand the same.

“Because…because what you’re describing sounds really good,” Blaze admits shyly. “I…I don’t know, you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t think there was a chance.”

“A chance of…?”

“A chance of the Isle…being like that. Right?”

Evie’s mouth drops open. “N-no.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, Blaze, no. No way. The people here are…I mean, not all of them, but…there’s just no way.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because…” Evie hesitates. “Because we don’t…um, I guess we don’t want to be like those people. The bad ones, I mean.”

“You sure don’t act like it,” mumbles Daisy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mal is still snappish enough to scare Daisy, set her swallowing hard.

“Just…just that you, um, you seem to like being intimidating. Or, I mean, people being scared of you.”

“Scaring people is different than actually hurting them,” Mal points out crisply. At Evie’s raised eyebrows, she rolls her eyes. “You were already telling them everything anyway. So what?” She takes a deep breath, and only Evie knows her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders. “We…want to be good, I guess. Shut up. I know it’s – I know it’s…” She growls. “It’s whatever it is. But it’s not rewarding, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Count us in.” Blaze sounds utterly decided.

_“What?!”_

Daisy, not so much.

“I want to help.” Blaze stays steady. “All my dad ever does is take about sin. I…I don’t know. I think being good is more than that. I, I’d like to help people, if I can.”

“Blaze!” Daisy sounds frustrated or scared or probably both. “We don’t…we can’t do that, c’mon. We have a hard enough time looking out for ourselves.”

“I want to, Dais.”

“I mean, what can she even do for you guys, huh?” Daisy puts her hands on her hips. “No offense, Blazey, really, but, c’mon.”

“Let’s try. Daisy – Daisy, really, why don’t we try?” The look that Daisy is giving Blaze isn’t promising, but she lets her companion pull her off to the side to plead with her.

While Blaze and Daisy their urgent, murmured conversation, Evie finally retrieves her and Mal’s clothes from the backseat. “What the fuck is going on.” Mal’s voice is still monotone, although from shock now, more than anger.

Evie shrugs, pulling her shirt down over her belly. “I mean…we wanted to be good, after some time in Auradon. Is it so hard to believe that they do, too?”

“I don’t trust it.”

“C’mon, Mal.”

“No.”

“Let’s give them a chance.”

“It’s Blaze and Daisy.” Mal wrinkles her nose. “A religious freak and a Hannigan girl. They can’t help us.”

“Blaze isn’t really religious, that’s just her dad,” Evie feels the need to point out. “Besides – it’s Blaze and Daisy. They can’t hurt us, either.”

Mal grumbles. “I guess.”

“She guesses!” Evie crows, and Mal has to grin at her delight. It’s good. It’s something. It’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making y'all wait so long! Hopefully this chapter has enough going on, I tried to make a longer one to make up for how absent I've been lately :) Sooo a lil character development for Lydia, a little smut for Mal and Evie, and a little bit of the Island kids finding some allies. Let me know what you think, what you're wondering about, what you'd like to see more of! And stay tuned because I definitely definitely will be posting more frequently from now on


	24. i think it means don't leave me here alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for physical child abuse and past drowning.

For days after he’s thrown into the bay, Carlos’s throat burns with the memory of salt. For the first time in his life he’s unable to eat – all his insides are raw from the memory of inhaling what felt like half the bay. Then the blackness had come up over his eyes and the next thing he knew he was lying on the boards of the dock with Jay above him, looking wild and rough and terrified. Oh, and the moments afterward, when Jay was led away. Carlos had never resented the Auradonians more than that moment, out on the dock, when Jay had stood up and walked away from him.

Sure, Carlos felt like his ribs were going to break under Jay’s panicked onslaught, but he’d take the pain to have Jay’s hands on him. The look on his face, the raw and terrible desperate love that looked like it would consume Jay, chew him up and spit him out broken…it was all that kept Carlos from wailing like a child when the twins pulled him away.

Any other time in their lives, Jay would’ve slung an arm around Carlos and all but carried him off the dock – let him walk a little for appearances but bear up most of the smaller teen’s weight without blinking. Once they were into the woods, he’d try to carry Carlos all the way to the treehouse, and Carlos would mostly let him, and the girls would do all the scavenging they could and join the others, late at night when they were already asleep, and maybe they’d have a smaller haul than usual, but at least they’d be together. At least Carlos would feel safe.

Instead, Evie guided Jay away from him, because they all need to keep up appearances, because someone needs to look after fucking _Chad,_ and so when Lydia asked, gently, if Carlos wants to go home, he shook his head sullenly, resignedly. He couldn’t go home. There were little Auradon kids in their treehouse. And Hell Hall is about the farthest thing from home he could imagine.

So he pushed himself up, with difficulty, feeling the air taking its time as it returned to his muscles. Idly, as he made his slow way back onto the barge, he wondered if it was a true drowning, if it was the barrier that had saved him. He spent the rest of the night on the barge picking through trash for Cruella and trying to imagine what exactly had taken place in his body as he’d gone under, kicked and flailed, swallowed the sea. Lydia and Evie are the anatomy experts. After awhile Carlos got bored thinking about things he didn’t understand precisely enough and calculated instead roughly the strength that it took for Jay to haul his deadweight body to the surface. He managed this all while pretending not to notice the way Jay’s hands shook in the flickering torches that flared to life all around them as night fell. He was afraid if he looked directly at Jay, the older teen might shatter.

When he got back to Hell Hall, Cerise had been asleep, and if Carlos had believed in any kind of god, he would’ve said a prayer for that small mercy. Dead tired as he was, he crawled into the closet beside her and passed out until well after seven am – positively luxurious, for him. All that sleep – about five hours’ worth – didn’t stop the black mood that overwhelmed him after the near drowning. The day passed, and Cerise had the tact and good grace not to ask.

Finally, on Friday morning, Carlos apologizes. They’re on their knees, scrubbing at stains hidden under the carpets, when he apologizes for his distance, his bad mood. He explains in a distant, almost bored tone how he almost drowned, and watches Cerise’s face flicker from curious to frightened to horrified. There’s enough distance now from the event that Carlos can look at it with scholarly interest. The creeping fear is gone from his skin, although the rasp in his throat remains.

“You _drowned?”_

Carlos shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, I don’t know if I could’ve been revived normally, or if the barrier intervened.”

“Carlos, that’s…”

“It’s nothing,” he cuts her off a little too quickly, because he may have decided that he’s over it, but he still doesn’t want to dwell. Emotions are hard to control. That’s why he doesn’t like them. He doesn’t need anything inconvenient creeping up on him when he’s decided he’s past such foolishness. “Point is, wasn’t such a good barge day.”

“Really, Carlos?” She’s scowling at him, and he can’t help smiling at her furious fierceness – the mane of red hair all around her head, and her blue eyes narrowed to slits. The color in her cheeks is almost hiding her freckles. “ _That’s_ the point?”

“That’s the only thing that matters long-term.” As she opens her mouth, Carlos cuts her off again. “I know you’re going to argue, but it’s true. I almost drowned, but I didn’t, so it doesn’t matter. I’m right here, and I’m fine. What does matter is I’d hope to get a little more food for the week.”

“What about the person who threw you in?” Carlos nods, impressed. He has to give Cerise credit for that. She’s dogged, and she has a good memory, and yes, that little fact does matter.

“Lydia dealt with it.”

“What’d she do?”

“Dealt with it.”

“Carlos!”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I swear I’m not being difficult. I don’t know what she did, I was just told that she handled it, and I trust that that’s true.”

Shaking her head, Cerise shuts her eyes for a second. “I can’t believe you.” She looks over at him, and he looks back at her innocently. She throws her raggedy sponge at his head. “How are you not curious at all? How can you…not care?”

Smiling a little at her consternation, Carlos thinks about how to explain his philosophy to this justice-minded Auradon girl. “I just…it just doesn’t matter, you know? It’s been dealt with, and I trust Lydia to have dealt with it properly, and if it’s dealt with properly, it just…it doesn’t matter. It’s over. And I have other things to worry about.”

Tipping her head, Cerise looks at him, an appraising, searching look. “I do _not_ understand you,” she announces after a moment.

“You don’t have to. Just have to live with me,” Carlos quips.

She rolls her eyes. “Even that’s hard enough.”

Just like that, they’re back, teasing each other and bickering lightheartedly and stopping between chores to sit on the steps for a moment in the sun. Cerise never complains. She never really shuts up, either, but Carlos guesses that’s okay, because he’s had enough years of silence in the creaky old row house. He’s always been a loner, never enjoyed conversation all that much, but suddenly he finds he doesn’t mind the company.

They have almost a full week of peace. Almost a full week of fairly seamless cohabitation – helping each other and cracking sarcastic jokes back and forth and dodging around under Cruella’s nose together. On Thursday they visit the Tremaines, and little Cressy is so, so proud of all the food they wrangled from the barge with the help of her two Auradonian “big brothers”. The younger one, who can’t be older than thirteen, certainly doesn’t deserve the title, but Carlos holds his tongue. On Friday morning, they bring food and supplies to the kids in the woods, and Carlos has to put his arm around Cerise’s shoulders that night as she cries, because she can’t stop thinking about the way Leo clung to her leg and refused to let go.

When they bring food by on Saturday for the girls at Hannigan’s, he ends up explaining to Cerise how Miss Hannigan names them all after nouns, because she can’t be bothered to pick real names. The Auradonian just can’t get over Seven.

“So, she’s not seven.”

“No, she’s nine, and she’s been called that since she was like, a baby.”

“And she’s not the seventh kid that Hannigan’s had.”

“Nope.”

“Then why-” And Cerise dissolves in a fit of giggles. They spend the walk home coming up with alternative names, any stupid noun that comes to mind – Doorknob, Parsnip, Aluminum, Kneecap. It isn’t _nice,_ but Carlos can’t remember the last time he belly-laughed like that, almost in the middle of the bazaar, too.

They’re still in this giddy, giggly mood that afternoon, as they do all the wash that was waiting, or already needs to be redone, and splash water or flick soap at each other in the backyard. They’re being loud, because the house is empty, and it’s maybe the first time that Carlos has voluntarily shouted in this house out of glee and not pain.

And then Cerise turns, her hands full of a soaking wet carpet, and runs straight into Cruella.

She must’ve come through the door when they weren’t paying attention. Later, Carlos will examine every moment leading up to it, and he won’t be able to recall a single thing that was off. Probably because of them laughing. Probably because he was so sure that Cruella hadn’t come home. Probably because he forgot why being so silent all the time was useful – it allowed him to go undetected.

There is no going undetected now. Cruella’s whole front, which is covered in a ratty stole, is dripping, and Cerise is standing there, completely frozen, face gone white under her brilliant red hair. “I-I’m sorry ma’am,” she manages, eyes huge, newly washed carpet falling from her arms, and Carlos is moving towards the two, almost running, when Cruella raises her hand.

She hits Cerise so hard the Auradonian stumbles back and away, hands coming up to grab her cheek where Cruella’s hand cracked across it. The sound rings like a shot in the courtyard and Carlos feels his heart plummet. Cerise draws in this quick, gulping breath, with a sound like a wounded animal, and Carlos wants to check on her, but he knows he can’t. Cruella is still moving forward.

“So loud,” she snarls, and Cerise, hearing her approach, trips further backward. “So careless. What do you think you’re doing in my house, girl?”

“I’m s-sorry, ma’am,” Cerise croaks, and then Carlos slides in front of her. Though every muscle is tense and telling him to flee or cower, he stands his ground in front of his mother, stalling her predatory approach.

Contemptuously, Cruella regards his defiant stance. “Keep your little bitch in line.” With that order, she puts her cane against her son’s breastbone and shoves him backward, into Cerise, nearly knocking the two of them over. Bored with the confrontation, she turns and retreats back into the house, stepping on the wet carpet Cerise had been holding as she goes.

Tense as a live wire, Carlos waits until Cruella disappears through the door before he turns back to Cerise. Her head is low, her curly mop of auburn hair hiding her face, but Carlos can hear her sniffling. Swallowing hard, he stretches out an awkward hand. “I’m…Cerise, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Cerise sounds frustrated, and she still won’t look at Carlos. “It’s fine. Really. Shit.” She swipes a hand across her nose. “This is pathetic.”

“Is not.”

“Is!” Cerise clenches her hands into fists. “You barely make a sound when she hits you and she slaps me _one. Single. Time!”_

“Hey, shut up.” It stuns Cerise into silence, and she peers up at him through teary blue eyes. Taking advantage of her confusion, Carlos grabs her hand and leads her back to the garden wall. They sit against it, keeping their eyes on the door in case Cruella reappears, and Carlos awkwardly slings an arm around Cerise’s shoulders. “You’re not used to this the way I am,” he says softly, after a quiet moment passes between them. “Don’t need to feel bad about that. It _is_ scary, and it does hurt, and that’s not pathetic.”

Shrugging, Cerise leans into him, and he can feel the tension lingering in her shoulders. “Shit.” She pauses a moment. “It…I don’t know. I’ve just…I’ve never been hit before.”

She admits it almost shyly, and Carlos makes a face that’s either a grimace or the ghost of a laugh. “Good.”

There’s a quiet moment between them, and then Cerise blows out her breath in a sigh and relaxes against Carlos. She’s soft against Carlos’s wiry skinniness, and her hair smells like soap from all the washing they’ve been doing that afternoon. The curls itch where they brush against Carlos’s nose, but he ignores the feeling, and waits. He knows if he gives her silence, she’ll fill it.

“It’s so fucked up that she…that that happens to you, all the time.” There’s real pain in Cerise’s voice, audible distress. “I…Carlos, I can’t imagine.”

“I…” He shifts, uncomfortable. “C’mon, it’s not so bad. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“That’s even worse!”

“Okay, then I haven’t gotten used to it.” It’s an attempt at a joke, but when Carlos checks Cerise’s face, she isn’t even smiling.

“I can’t believe you have to live like this, and, and…has it been like this…always?” She turns her head to look at him, and her eyes are so afraid of his answer that he almost lies.

But if Carlos lies he’ll have to come up with a story, and he just can’t manufacture something off the top of his head that makes sense. So the truth it is. “Yes. As long as I can remember.”

There’s horror on Cerise’s face, mixed with exhausted sorrow. “Even when you were a little kid, you were working like a slave and getting beaten like a dog?”

Still deeply uncomfortable, Carlos shrugs. “Well…yeah. It…she used to have lower standards, I guess. And she lets herself go more, now that she knows I’ll be around to clean everything up. I think maybe in the beginning she had Hannigan’s girls come around, but…I don’t really know. She must’ve fed and cared for me at some point, else I would be a living skeleton.”

“It shouldn’t be like this.” Cerise shakes her head fiercely. “I know that’s the most obvious thing in the world, just…it really shouldn’t be like this. People shouldn’t live like this – even villains shouldn’t have to live off of garbage, and go without things like, like medical care. And their kids _especially_ shouldn’t be subject to this shit. It’s, it’s inhuman.”

Unbothered by her passion, Carlos shrugs. “I guess they really didn’t think the villains would have kids. Or they thought they’d somehow self-regulate, as a society. Maybe some combination of both. Or maybe they just didn’t think about it at all.”

“I don’t understand how this could have happened. There’s no oversight, no upkeep, nothing…King Adam should be dethroned for this. I mean, I mean, there should be a revolution. An outside investigation!” Cerise is stabbing her finger in the air as she makes her points, and Carlos sighs lightly, waits for her to finish. “There could be systems set up – evaluations for villains’ kids, to bring them into Auradon – like you guys. Social workers to evaluate if parents can be allowed to keep their kids…and, and I guess if the parents want to be good providers but don’t have the tools, there would have to be a solution in place for that…”

She’s thinking for a while before she nudges Carlos in the ribs. “Well, c’mon, don’t you have any ideas?”

Chuckling, Carlos shakes his head. “No, I definitely don’t.”

“Carlos,” Cerise presses, “you’d know better than most how to improve the Island. How to fix things. You must have some ideas.”

“I promise you, I don’t.”

“You left a horrible situation and came to Auradon. You’ve seen both sides of it, the lives Island kids could have. What…I mean, how could we make that happen for everyone? What do we need to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Carlos, I’m being serious.” Now there’s real frustration in Cerise’s voice, and Carlos can see that his deflection obviously isn’t working. He sighs.

Best to get it over with hard and fast, leave no room for doubts. “Cerise, it’s not possible. I’m sorry. None of the things that you’re talking about are possible.”

“But…but Carlos, you can’t just…you’re not just going to accept things the way they are. I mean, after the adults hear about how things are over here, there’s no way-”

“It’s too hard to fix. There’s no easy, cheap solution. And it’s not an attractive problem, either. It’s not like, you fix it and you have a bunch of cute, grateful kids that everyone’s scrambling to adopt. You fix this and you’re going to end up with truckloads of angry, damaged troublemakers in an alien environment who have terrible habits and coping mechanisms, and happy-pretty-perfect Auradon isn’t going to do a damn thing to help them once they’re over there.”

It’s only when Carlos stops speaking that he realizes how angry he sounds.

“Carlos…”

“Look, I’m sorry. I know you want to help. I know you care. But that’s what happened to Mal, Evie, Lydia, Jay and me. No one helped us. No one explained a damn thing. No one made it easy. We almost…” he shakes his head. “We almost screwed up our one single chance. Who knows if Auradon would’ve forgiven us for that? And we were the first five kids ever. Chosen for no apparent reason. I mean, who knows if we’ll even be sent back when Vlasta’s overthrown?”

“Of course you’ll be sent back!”

“It’s arbitrary, Cerise! It’s always been arbitrary.” Carlos’s shoulders sag, defeated. “We’re…we’re in this situation where it’s life or death all the time, right? Every day, we’re fighting and stealing and barely scraping by. And…” he shuts his eyes. “And we’re judged, by you people, in your ideal little society, on those actions – the way we have to act to survive. Based on how we act _here,_ you decide whether we fit in over _there,_ and then, in the vanishingly rare case where we’re deemed worthy, we’re just dropped off in a new place with bizarre new rules and if we act the way we would at home, we’d most likely be sent back in a heartbeat. It’s…it’s arbitrary, Cerise, and unfair, and it’s still the only system anyone can come up with.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” She means it, Carlos can tell, and he appreciates that. “You’re right, I just…I never thought of it that way.” Cerise hesitates. “And…”

“And you’re wondering if someone who acts evil on the Island can be trusted in Auradon. I don’t know, Cerise. It’s a valid question. But no one knows. And Auradon isn’t willing to risk it. I can’t say that I blame them.”

“No way.” Cerise shakes her head incredulously. “You _have_ to be angry with Auradon.”

“I’m not. It makes logical sense. You put the dangerous people on an island where they can only hurt and affect other dangerous, evil people. They have kids. You didn’t plan on that, but your morals don’t allow you to remove a child from their parent without knowing that the parent is hurting the kid, and you don’t have that insight. Better to be careful about it and leave the kid. When they grow up, chances are they’re a delinquent, and you have no way of knowing if it was the way they were raised, or how they were all along. Either way, they’re now a danger to your citizens, so you leave them on the Island, where they conveniently already are.” It’s a neat little problem, but it has a neat little solution. It’s almost elegant. Carlos can appreciate the math.

“It’s not _right._ ”

Carlos shrugs. “We’re a byproduct they didn’t plan for. It’s shortsighted. It’s also…understandable.”

“Okay _what_ are you talking about?”

“Life on the Island is all about protecting your own! That’s exactly what Auradon is doing, just on a larger scale.”

Cerise’s mouth works as she tries to come up with a response. Finally, she tosses her head grumpily, admitting defeat. “I still don’t like it,” she mutters mutinously. “And it’s _not_ how DunBroch would handle it.”

“Oh really?” Carlos arches an eyebrow. “And how would mighty Dunbrook handle it?”

“It’s Dun _Broch,_ not Dun _brook,”_ lectures Cerise, her accent jumping out on the name, the way it always does. “And…and, I don’t know. Just…better.”

“I think you have a superiority complex,” teases Carlos gently, and Cerise grumbles good-naturedly. There’s a pause between them, but this time they’re both relaxed. Almost content. “You okay?” Carlos finally asks. Cerise’s hand comes up to touch her face, brushing across the skin of her cheek and examining her hand as if she thinks it will be marked by the memory of the blow.

“I…it just hurt, more than I thought it would, and it was so sudden, and she was just so…scary.” Cerise lapses into quiet, but then speaks up again, sounding confused and a little urgent, as if she doesn’t understand but she’s dying to. She sounds like a little kid, after working so hard to be strong the past few days, and it makes Carlos’s chest twinge. “I just…there’s something about her that’s just…and she doesn’t look that strong, she’s so skinny…”

“I know.” Carlos sighs. “It’s because she’s crazy.”

“Well, I don’t know-”

“No, I mean she’s really, actually crazy. She’s completely unpredictable, and stronger than she looks. It’s not your fault that freaks you out.” Cerise makes a face, but she stays quiet. Now comes the part of the conversation he’s been dreading. He knows Cerise, Carlos really feels like he does, but he’s still irrationally afraid that somewhere inside, she’s furious with him. Carlos takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop her.”

Incredulous, Cerise blinks at him. “What were you supposed to do?”

“Stop her. Stand in front of you.”

Now Cerise glares. “Cut it out, Carlos. You don’t have to take blows for me.”

“I definitely should.”

“Should _not.”_

“Well, what if I want to?”

Cerise huffs. “Why would you want to?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” It’s a simple, true answer, but it quiets Cerise for a long moment.

“Well – why is it any different than you getting hurt?”

“Because I’m used to it.” Carlos explains it patiently, as if to a child.

“That doesn’t mean you should get hit.”

“Nothing to be done about should, Cerise.”

“Well…well…” she pushes herself up away from Carlos’s side and turns to look him in the eye. “Just promise me if she tries to hit me again, you won’t try to get in the way. Promise.”

Carlos meets her eyes and smiles at her determination, her obstinacy, her sweet stubbornness. “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this one took me awhile but my chapters are getting longer so hopefully that makes up for it a little bit! As always I'd love to hear from you in the comments :)

**Author's Note:**

> First off - this takes place after the first movie; I don't know the others well enough to write about them/incorporate them into the story.  
> Second: There's going to be a lot of things in here that I made up/added (for instance, Evie having a twin). A lot of the time there's a reason for that I'd be happy to talk about if you're curious. Other times I Wanted To and it's My Fic. So if you're mad about all the OCs, just like. Don't read it.  
> Lastly, comments and questions are always so so appreciated! Thanks :)  
> If you want to talk about anything, or have ideas for new fics, you can find me on tumblr at overcomewithlongingfora-girl


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